Record Deal with the Devil
by EmojiiBoy
Summary: [18 No kids allowed] Troye joins forces with a reincarnated human to fight demons (and their sinning partners) in search of fame, fortune, meaning, and love. ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FIC-EVEN THOSE BASED ON REAL PEOPLE-ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE. sexual themes, ultra-violence. Updates whenever
1. This Will Bring Us Closer, Right?

Chapter 1: "This Will Bring Us Closer, Right?"

*wink* BWAAYEEEE. A "Good Thymes" Remix by Opiou began to play as the endcard to the Youtube Video read "Troye Sivan" and linked to other videos.

"So, what do you think? Did you like it?" Troye and his friend Connor were sitting at their lunch table in their high school cafeteria. The lunch room was packed with people. Their lunch table was not. Connor leaned away from Troye's screen, and he picked up his sandwich to take a bite.

"It's good. Actually, it's really good. Did you show it to anyone else?" Connor asked.

"No, of course not," Troye said. "Plus, if i did, don't you think there would be more than 30 views on it?"

"I guess so," Connor said. He chuckled. "Who gave you those views anyway?"

"Well, three are mine, one or two might be from my brother Tyde, and the rest are just random people who visit Youtube," Troye said.

"You should definitely show this to other people. It's hilarious. I mean, I could watch anyone try to bake a 3 layer rainbow cake, but you just put your own style in there, and make it a lot better."

"So... what you're saying is, it's a common idea? That it's not really an original idea for a Youtube video?"

Connor put his hands up in a "don't shoot" kind of way. "Troye, you know that's not what I meant. I mean that you are really unique, so whatever you do is going to be really good." Troye rolled his eyes, and then looked at his friend from the corner of them. "I mean, you're cool. So you're video's cool," he said quickly. "I'm not hitting on you or anything."

"Ugh, I wish you were," Troye said. Connor looked at him in mock disgust. "I'm just kidding, dude. I know you're not gay like that."

"I'm not gay at all," Connor said.

"I know." It was Troye's turn to raise his hands defensively. "I'm just saying, you're my best friend, and so I don't know if you really think its good or if you just want me to feel good."

"Trust me. It's good. And if you want to subtlety hint at your sexuality, I think that making a cake out of rainbows is a good way to start."

"Yeah, maybe Tyler Oakly will see it," Troye said wistfully. He pictured that blue haired boy sitting at his computer, replaying the video over and over, each time falling more maddeningly in love with him.

Connor frowned. "Well maybe you should just let go of that pipe dream. He's a famous Youtuber. Why would he see you video?"

"Come on, don't be like that," Troye said. "He's on Youtube all the time, and this video is on Youtube. Maybe that way he could see it." Now it was Connor's turn to roll his eyes. "Okay, I know it's a stretch. But what a tale it would be if me, lowly Youtube actor Troye Sivan could meet up with the illustrious, and fabulous, Tyler Oakly?"

"More like a fairy tale," Connor said. "But don't let me put down your dreams. Next video maybe you should give him a shoutout?"

"Good idea," Troye said, the gears in his head beginning to spin. Connor sighed.

"HEY, NICE CAKE!" Bob Sutter from across the room was pointing at Troye. The two notoriously didn't get along, especially since Troye came out of the closet. "FAG!" Someone else at their table added in, it might have been his friend Billy. The two high fived.

"See?" Troye said. "That's why I don't show these videos to anyone." Troye tipped his head back, looked at the ceiling and fake-yelled, "It's so embarrassing!" before slumping his head onto his crossed arms on the table.

"It's not embarrassing," Connor said, rubbing Troye's back. "It would only be embarrassing if it were bad. And it's not. Bad that is. You had a really entertaining video. Those guys only think stuff that's really manly is cool. But you want your stuff to be cute and funny, and that's what you made. Trust me, it's really good."

"But I only have 30 views," Troye said to the table. "I can't keep making these embarrassing videos for that little attention. Plus, for all I know, the rest of the views came from Bob and his friends making fun of me. Why would I want to expose myself to people who would only want to make me sad?"

"Well that's the thing. That was only, what, your 10th video? You won't get famous with only 10 videos, you need to keep putting yourself out there. Don't worry about the haters. Isn't that what Tyler always says?"

"Tyler's haters are different. His haters only exist in the comments section. Mine can beat me up after school," Troye said. It wasn't far from the truth, even though the bullies had never laid a finger on him. Bob and his friends were bigger kids who smoked cigarettes on the corner before school and looked like they had to shave twice a day, while Troye, at 18, could be confused for a 15 year old to your run-of-the-mill passerby. "Maybe I should take my channel down, now that they found it."

"Oh my god, don't be so dramatic," Connor said sympathetically. He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up a little higher on the right. "If you like doing it, then keep doing it. I'm here to support you."

"I just can not deal with the negativity," Troye said. He picked his head up and fixed his own hair, which had been getting very messy lately with all of the late nights he had put in editing his videos. But right after that, the table messed up his quiff again as another one of Bob's friends walked passed with an erect middle finger.

"Hey booyysss." The call came from Troye and Connor's friend, Blessing, the third man in their trio. He tossed his brown paper lunch bag onto the table, and gently placed his laptop next to it. "Troye, loved the video. It was fabulous. And that cake looked delicious."

"Thanks, Bless. I would offer you some, but I think Tyde and Steele ate it all."

"Aw, you brothers do eat a lot," Blessing said. "Hey, what the matter?" he asked after noticing that Troye had addressed the table instead of him.

"Troye is upset because he thinks his videos are no good," Connor said.

"I never said that," Troye said, lifting his head off the table once and for all. "I just said that I want more people to view them, or else I think I'm going to take the channel down."

Blessing pouted as hard as he could. "Troye boy, don't take your videos down. I love watching them, and you look so happy in them. Who cares if you aren't famous for them?"

"It's not even that he wants to be famous," Connor said. "He want's Tyler to see them." He sighed. Blessing gave him a sideways glance.

"Ugh, you always keep talking about Tyler. What about the friends that you have right here?" Connor nodded aggressively.

"I don't know, he's kind of like my celebrity inspiration and I really want to impress him," Troye said.

"More like he's your celebrity crush and you want to kiss him," Blessing said. All three of them rolled their eyes aggressively.

Blessing continued. "But if you want to meet him, I know a way."

"You do?" Troye didn't sound convinced in the least bit, as if Blessing had just said that he could get Santa to give him a lap dance.

"Yeah, I found this thing on 4chan that can get you anything that you want," Blessing said. "A bunch of people on the boards are commenting on it. It has like 40 pages of comments. A lot of people are saying it's legit."

"Well what is it?" Connor asked.

"Uhhh, you're not going to believe me," Blessing said.

"Shoot," Troye said.

"It's like a devil ritual," Blessing said. "Wait, hear me out before you guys both roll your eyes out of their sockets. Apparently there's this ancient religious ritual where you can pray to this god, and kings and high priests used to do it in the days of the Azetcs and the Mayans. And then they would win wars when they should have lost, and they had years of good harvests and they built all of these crazy wonders of the world and stuff."

"W T Fuck are you talking about," Connor said.

"Thanks for the tip, but I'd rather do my usual thing of trying to telepathically talk to Tyler in my sleep," Troye said.

"There's a lot of historical research that are in these 40 pages of comments," Blessing said. "It looks really cool. I haven't been able to stop reading about it all night."

"But if you said it was to some god, then why did you start by calling it a devil ritual?"

"Well, the first post said that it was supposed to be to a god, but research uncovered cave paintings and murals that are tied to it that depict demons with horns and wings and stuff like that, like tails and stuff, and so a lot of people think that they were like deals with the devil."

Connor and Troye just stared at Blessing. Like, they literally just stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds. They had no idea what to say.

"Oh come on," Blessing said. "Do you want to look at it or what?"

"Oh, whatever, pass it here," Troye said. Blessing clapped his hands together in glee, then clicked around his computer for a little.

"I don't want to get anywhere near that kind of crap," Connor said. "That stuff really freaks me out."

"Well then avert your eyes, babe," Blessing said, passing the computer to Troye. He flashed the screen at Connor quickly, who yelped and jerked his head away.

Troye took the computer and tried to glean some ancient knowledge from the screen. There really were a lot of comments on it, some linking to places like the Library of Congress and BBC websites. There were also a lot of people calling others fags and bitches. One girl who tried to comment was hit with a wave of 'tits or GTFO.' "This is the same website that started that #cut4bieber right?" Troye asked. Blessing nodded.

"And that hoax where they got people to think that downloading iOS8 would make you iPhone waterproof."

"I hate 4chan. It's a cesspool," Connor said.

"But that's the fun of it," Blessing said. Troye wasn't paying attention to either of them at that point. He was engrossed in the original post. There was a picture of a wall in some tomb or something. Hieroglyphics and symbols were engraved into the wall, which was illuminated by torches. Of course, Troye couldn't read anything that was written on the wall. However, the caption to the post read: "Mephistopheles, see me rising. Stare and Wonder. I beckon you to dance. Hold me. Take me under. God of second chance, dominate me." The ancient words, which had caused so much good fortune for some, and even more pain and suffering for others, tumbled over his soft lips.

"Oh my fuck," Blessing said. "Why did you read that out loud?"

Troye jumped in his seat, startled by Blessing's outburst. "What, was I not supposed to?" he asked.

"Did you not read the comments?" Blessing asked. Troye shook his head. "If you read it out loud, you've entered into a contract with the god. And if you don't make a sacrifice before the day is over, then he takes you as a sacrifice instead." Connor's eyes widened.

"Why didn't you tell me that first, Bless?" Troye said.

"I was getting to it, but I didn't think you were going to read it out loud," Blessing said. "But don't worry, I mean it's not real, right?"

"Well you were pretty convincing earlier," Connor said. "See? That's why I don't touch those things. Ever since those chain emails went around in grade school about the ghost girl that will kill your family if you don't share her picture with 5 friends."

"What, you never sent them?"

"Fuck no, I sent those things along to everyone I knew," Connor said. "I wasn't gonna have my family murdered by no ghosts!"

"Any ghosts. You mean any," Blessing corrected. Connor stuck his tongue out at him.

"Well, whatever, if you don't even think that this shit is real, then I'm not worried," Troye said.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to lose you Troye boy," Blessing said. "Do you want me to tell you how to escape the jaws of Mephistopheles?"

"Who?" Connor asked.

"The god from the ritual. Or the devil or whatever," Troye said. "Yeah, tell me what to do. Do I have to burn a sandwich for him? Or murder my goldfish?"

"Little worse than that…" Blessing said. The two other boys looked at him expectantly. "You have to kill… a human!" Blessing flung back in his chair and laughed. Connor frowned. Troye smirked.

"Well that shouldn't be too hard. There are plenty of humans around," Troye said.

"You can't be serious," Connor said.

"Hey, all you need to do is kill one person, and you can get whatever you wished for," Blessing said. "What did you wish for, by the way?"

"I didn't wish for anything, I just read it," Troye said.

"Well what were you thinking of, in your head?" Connor asked. "But wait, what if it's like a birthday cake, and if you tell people your wish then it won't come true?"

"That's a fucked up birthday if you have to kill someone before you get your presents," Troye said. "But I guess I was thinking of my Youtube videos, and how I want a lot of people to view them?"

"I bet you wished to be boyfriends with Tyler Oaklayy," Blessing said. Troye laughed.

"Yeah, this will being us closer, right?" He gave an exaggerated shrug, and his whole little body jumped into the air a little. "But whatever, it's not going to come true anyway. I ain't no killah." He snapped by pressing his middle finger and thumb together, then hitting them a few times with his pointer.

Just then, the lunch bell rang. "Well, we have to go to class," Troye said. He was in a much better mood now that Blessing had distracted him. He had even forgotten about Bob and Billy and their douchebag posse.

"Don't kill anyone on the way," Connor said as he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"You don't need to worry about that, Connor," Troye said. "I'm a lover, I'm not a fighter."

"But watch out, cus he's also a fighter for what he loves," Blessing said. He shot Troye a wink, and Troye reached out and caught it gently to keep it from breaking. "Troye, are we walking home after school?"

Troye gave Blessing's wink a little nibble. "No, I have to stay after to write a paper. This is delicious by the way," Troye said, still nibbling on the wink until it was gone. "I'm going to be here till like 7:00."

"Well, good luck with that," Blessing said. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Unless I'm snapped up in the jaws of Mephistopheles," Troye said, chomping the air a few times. Blessing giggled.

"I love you, Troye boy. Don't be getting yourself dragged to hell now."

"Don't even joke about that!" Connor yelled from across the room.

"How did he even hear that?" Troye asked.

"It's cus he loves you even more than me. If-a you-a know-a what I'm-a sayin'," Blessing said, with his hand in the air like O.G. Genasis does when he yells 'Baking soda!"

"Come on, you know he's straight," Troye said. Blessing gave him a look. Troye gave Blessing a look back. They're looks started to give each other looks in an infinite loop, until finally they looked at how silly they looked to everyone else that was looking.

"See ya tomorrow?" Troye said quickly.

"Yup," Blessing said. Troye skittled away, and Blessing sauntered to his next class in long strides like he always did.


	2. Chapter 2: Strapping on the Collar

A Movie Deal With the Devil: Chapter 2: Donning the Collar

"Thanks Mrs. Griffin. That paper took a lot longer than I though it would."

"No problem, Troye. Always a pleasure. You know, I'm glad that you stop by so often." Mrs. Griffon had worked in the high school for upwards of 40 years. She was a legend around those parts-the boys' locker room, specifically). Mrs. G was known as the TILF of the staff. For those of you know don't know what TILF means, it's "Teacher In-Likable, Fool", but only if you ask Freshman Mike Gotherton, who asked his Senior brother about it (this kid is super overprotective of his younger brother hearing bad words, even though this older brother himself was dropping F-bombs like it was his job since 5th grade). Of course, that new anagram doesn't mean anything, but if you cannot ascertain what TILF means right now, based on context clues and pop-cuture historical consciousness, you probably shouldn't be reading this. In fact, some of the boys could claim that she was a TIHF, the "H" here meaning "have" and the F transitioning to past tense. Mrs. Griffon, a twice divorcee, was known to give BJs to some of her favored students. Whether or not said BJs resulted in a divorce or two is still up for debate.

"Well you're the best in the school when it comes to writing," Troye sheepishly said.

"Well, I guess that's why some of the boys… come in my office." Mrs. Griffin crossed her legs on her desk and puckered her lips. Troye swallowed. His pants began to vibrate audibly.

"I really should get going," Troye said, pulling his ringing phone out of his pocket. "That's my mum," he lied. "Dinner's getting cold."

"That's too bad," Mrs. Griffin sighed. "Just let me know the next time you want me to bend over and check out your prowess."

Troye opened the door and stepped out into the doorframe. "You know I'm gay, right?"

Mrs. Griffin's eyes widened in surprise. She uncrossed her legs. "Uh, no, I did not know that. By why are you telling me?"

""We've had enough… intimate writing sessions that I just thought you should know a little more about me." Troye smiled gently, showing a little bit of his teeth. "Well, bye Mrs. Griffin! This has been lovely." Troye toodled his fingers and spun around on his toe180 degrees until he was out the door. It was bad enough to reject girls his own age, let alone grown women who he respected.

Troye exited his high school at 7:00 sharp. He could see the sun setting in the distance, but there was still plenty of light to walk home. He adjusted his bag on his back and started the mile walk home. Troye began the route that he took every day. Walk five blocks east of the school, take a right, walk three more blocks, cross over the bridge that went over the river, and then continue straight until he got home. Walking wasn't a big deal, but usually he walked home with Blessing, who lived down the street. Now that Troye was alone, he had no other company than the thoughts in his head.

He thought about what he usually did: Youtube and Tyler Oakley. Lately, the Youtube sensation had really captured all of his attention. He was so funny, and smart, and cool. Tyler was also really big into LGBT rights, and was seen as an activist in various online communities. He was also one of the first gay Youtuber's to make it big, that is, reach over a million subscribers. And Tyler was so comfortable with his sexuality. He spoke openly about being gay, and he died his hair in various colors of the rainbow. Some of the comments on his videos said that the fame had blown him up into a caricature of who he once was, but Troye didn't think that way. He only thought that Tyler was perfect the way he was. He was in inspiration, and he was irresistibly cute to boot.

Troye shook the thought of Tyler out of his head. He knew that there was no way that they would ever meet. Troye lived in Perth, Australia, while Tyler lived in San Francisco in the United States. They were so far apart that they would never happen to run in to each other on the street, plus Tyler was so famous that he was probably never seen by the common folk.

That was one of the main reasons that Troye had wanted to make Youtube videos. He wanted to get famous enough to meet his idol… and of course maybe to take him out on a date. Troye took a right across the street, and began the straightaway to his house. Could he really get famous enough to meet Tyler? And what if the Tyler he met was vastly different than the Tyler that he envisioned? That was the problem with celebrity crushes. You only know them by their persona; you never really know what they will be like in real life. Anyway, the thought of Tyler was only giving Troye pain. He just couldn't understand how he could know someone so well online, yet never really ever be able to know him face to face. Or mouth to mouth. Troye smiled broadly to himself, then hid it in case a passerby thought that he was crazy. There was no one else on the street, which was normal. Troye never saw many people walking around at this time of day. Most families sat down to eat dinner at 7:00, so he assumed that everyone was inside. As Troye started to cross the bridge, he wondered what he would be eating that night, when he noticed the only other person that he had seen on his trip.

There was a boy standing on the other side of railing, looking down into the water below.

"It's a little late to go swimming. Plus, you're wearing good clothes," Troye mused. The boy was wearing a black thermal, with the white collar of a dress shirt covering his neck. The boy said nothing. He just kept staring into the dark water below.

"I know you don't want to go swimming," Troye said. "I was just joking." The boy remained silent. "What do you want? What are you doing up here? Over there?"

The boy stayed quiet. Troye noticed that the boy's face was wet with tears. "What's the matter?" Troye asked. "Stop being so quiet." Troye usually didn't like to talk to strangers, and not even just the older men in white vans who might try to take him to a well under their house after offering him candy. He didn't like to talk to people that he didn't know. It wasn't polite. The boy finally spoke.

"You know, my mom always said 'if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all."

"So, what, you want to insult me?" Troye crossed his arms over the railing and looked out over the water. The sun was setting, so the dark blue (almost black) water flowed under the sky that glowed with a brilliant orange, red, and pink. Troye sighed. "I can take it, it won't be the first time that I've been insulted today."

The boy looked over at Troye and blushed, ever so slightly, so that Troye wasn't sure if the setting sun hadn't given the boy some of it's color. He guessed that it must have been the sun, because the boy's white collar glowed red, too. "No, I don't think I could insult you. At least on appearance alone. I don't even know anything about you. I just know what you look like."

Troye looked down over the water. He remembered times when, during the summer, he and Connor and Blessing would jump off of the bridge and splash into the blue water only 20 feet below.

"No, I've been quiet lately because I have nothing good to say about myself. A lot of people want me to talk, so they ask me questions. They ask me what I'm thinking about. They ask me how I'm feeling. They ask me if I have any hope for the future."

"And what do you say?" Troye whispered. Sounds of lapping water drifted up from below.

"I don't say anything. I don't want to tell them the truth: that I feel awful all the time. I don't have the energy to lie anymore, though. So I just don't tell people anything anymore."

Troye looked up from the water and fixed his gaze on this boy. He stood on the section of concrete, only about a foot in length, with his back to the railing. His arms were extended to either side of him, and he held the rail with a backhand grip. The boy's hair waved in the wind. He was no longer blushing, and his face was pale of his collar, which had reverted to a crisp white. Troye could feel his own face turning rosy from the brisk air over the water.

"Then… why are you talking to me?" Troye asked. The boy turned his head-ever so slightly-and looked at Troye out of the corner of his eye. He smirked.

"I guess it's because I don't know who you are, and you don't know me," the boy said. "I can say anything I want to you, and it won't mean anything at all. I won't hurt your feelings."

"How do you know you won't hurt my feelings?" Troye said. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this boy. At first, he thought that he was just weird, but it suddenly felt like this boy was about to commit suicide. "What, are you telling me that you want to kill yourself?" The boy was silent, but he was still looking at Troye out of the corner of his eye. "You don't think that I would be totally traumatized if you killed yourself right now?" As soon as the words escaped his lips, Troye realized how silly he sounded. This bridge was totally safe to jump from. He chuckled. "Besides, if you wanted to kill yourself, you could pick a better spot. You know little kids jump from this bridge all the time. For fun."

The boy twisted on the ledge, and let his left hand go of the rail. He pivoted on his right foot, still holding the rail with his right hand, the one that was right next to Troye. His left hand swumg out swiftly over the water, and his left foot did the same thing below. When the boy's hand completed its arc, he faced Troye, grabbing the rail to the far side of him, so that one hand was on either side of Troye. Troye was startled, and stood up straight, but didn't step back. The boy moved his eyes to level with Troye's. His collar flapped slightly in the wind.

"The thing is, I don't owe you anything. I was here, just minding my own business, and then you came out of nowhere into my little world. I was fine here, and then here comes this random person out of nowhere. So you know what? I'm done being polite. I've already decided what I want to do. If you want to be with me when it happens, then that's on you. I never asked you to reach out to me."

Troye and the boy gazed into each other's eyes. Troye thought that his own face probably reflected some anger. The boy opposite him displayed no emotion, and he started to lean over the railing, towards Troye.

Troye leaned forward so that he was face to face with the boy. The boy's face blocked out the setting sun, and his face was haloed by deep red, with even deeper purple surrounding it. "Well, I'm here, and I was going to try to help you," Troye felt his face turning red. "But I don't think you want it. You want to jump? Do it. You'll be fine."

"You promise?" The boy's halo of red began to recede.

"I don't want to owe you anything." Troye said. He stepped back. The wind picked up, and it was suddenly much colder. The wind tried its best to bite into his denim jacket. He kept staring into the boy's eyes as the sun finally set, completely.

The boy closed his eyes and sighed. "Well, see you." The boy smirked as he let go of the railing. He leaned back, further and further, until his body was parallel with the concrete surface of the bridge. Troye gasped, and reached out to grab the boy's collar. But it was too late. The boy's shoes lost their contact with the pavement, and he fell towards the water below.


	3. Chapter 3:Do It With the Lights Off

Chapter 3: Beyond the Pale

Troye held up his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light that stepped out into. He reached into his pea-coat pocket and pulled forth a pair of pitch black, horn-rimmed glasses. He put them on, and then, since his hand was already up and now free from their burden, began to wave at the crowd of fans that surrounded him on either side of the walkway.

"Right this way, Troye." Marcus, the giant bodyguard, put a hand on the small of Troye's back and led him through the crowd. Journalists held out the finger's for just "One question, please." Reporters repeated "Troye's" name in front of their cameras. Some girls cried, even though they weren't teenagers anymore. Troye kept waving, and smiled broadly. No matter how many times he walked down similar red carpets, amid the love and adoration of fans, the feelings of joy and pride never felt common. Each new encounter with a crowd who wanted him felt like the first time. Of course, this time, Troye had a lot more experience than he had when had first started acting.

"Vanessa, how are you?" Troye said to one of the journalists who wrote for _People_.

"Troye, how is the new movie coming along? How is your relationship with Jennet?" Troye laughed as he signed a fan's tee-shirt. All of the news outlets always wanted to know how the director, James Jennet, was treating his cast ever since the meltdown on Aquaman 3 last summer.

"Jimmy? He's a dream to work with. I almost can't wait to get done working on this film so that I can start another one with him." Troye was a professional, and knew better to bring up Jennet's overt displeasure with the Kraft spread that the cast and crew were eating that day, especially when they would see each other again the next day.

"David, good to see you." Troye shook the photographer's hand, and then posed for a picture with two other fans.

"Troye, looking good as always," David snapped a few more pictures, tilting the camera from side to side. It was his style.

"Don't let your wife hear that. She might get jealous." Troye and David shared a wide mouthed laugh that must have looked friendly and fun in the hundreds of pictures that were taken at that moment. The sunlight was so bright that it was almost tangible; it seemed to hang in the air like a mist, and Troye could feel it enter his lungs as he took a breath.

"Troye, right this way," Marcus was edging Troye along again. He was so overprotective, although Troye never could complain, since that was what Marcus was paid for. However, this day just seemed so perfect that Troye was certain that nothing could go wrong. He was on top of the world.

Troye and his posse kept moving towards the massive bus with Troye's face on the side. No doubt Johnny was already inside making lunch. Troye could also see Vince behind the wheel, smiling at waving at Troye from under his black driver's hat. Troye waved back as Carly climbed the bus' steps to open the door for him. That's when Troye saw him.

The boy sat on top of the bus, his left leg crossed under him and his right leg dangling over the door. He raised his leg up to let Carly swing the door open, then dropped in back in front of the open frame. Carly didn't seem to notice. The boy gazed down at Troye with deep green eyes.

"Hey, Marcus. What is he doing up there? Should he be there?" Marcus shrugged.

"Who? Vince?"

"No, that kid on the roof of the bus," Troye said. He took off his sunglasses in order to get a better look. After he took them off, he realized that it had gotten a lot darker out. The boy kept looking down at him, swinging his leg back and forth, in and out of the doorframe. Red and purple light radiated from behind him.

"What are you doing? Get down from there?" Troye yelled up to him. The boy simply smiled. Troye felt his own hand move to cover his lips when he saw the boy's teeth. All of his teeth were sharp, as if all of his incisors and molars had been replaced with canines. He kept swinging his leg.

"Troye, right this way," Marcus said. Troye checked over his shoulder and saw that the building he had just come out of was gone. In its place was a sea of faces. A massive crowd was moving towards him. Troye turned back to the boy.

"What do you want?" Panic took hold of Troye's voice as the crowd closed in on him. Wings made of jet black feathers unfurled behind the boy on the bus. He extended them to their full span. Their tips flittered a little as he stretched out his arms above his head.

"Looks like I owe you something after all," the boy said. He smiled again, revealing his sharp teeth as a crowd as far as the eye could see collapsed onto Troye. Marcus was nowhere to be found. As the crowd attacked him, Troye fell to his knees. Surprisingly, he kept on falling. As he dropped through the air, he looked down to see viscous waves churning miles below him. The crests took the form of hands, reaching up to grab him before the waves broke onto each other, sending foamy fingers flying all over the place. Troye looked up to see thousands of ravenous fans falling through the sky. They all had these hungry looks on their faces, and held their hands on to grab him. Amid the normal people who were falling, a few animals were falling as well. Dogs, pigs, and lions flailed their legs as they tried to gain some footing in vain. Snakes twisted and writhed as they fell. Birds flew freely amongst the falling fans. Far below, the tumultuous waves began to rise up and take form. Or at least, that's what they appeared to be doing.

Suddenly the boy was flying in a nosedive at the same speed as Troye, right next to him. His wings were folded up behind him. "Hold on, this is gonna be tight," he said, enveloping Troye in a bear hug. Troye wrapped his arms around the boy and tilted his head up (which was actually down, since they were upside-down) to look back at the waves.

The black water swelled until a gigantic reptilian head broke the surface. This thing must have been as big as the Empire State Building, and it rapidly closed the gap between Troye and itself. Troye screamed as the head opened its massive jaws, which seemed to take up most of its head, revealing rows of menacing teeth. The boys held each other even tighter as they fell into the mouth. The boy jerked his head back and spread his wings out to their full length, just as the jaws snapped shut behind them.

Troye snapped his eyes open the at the same moment that his bedroom light turned on. His mother stood with her finger still on the light switch. Troye wiped cold sweat from his forehead, which didn't really do much because his hand was also wet. His drenched shirt clung to his chest as he took a few deep breaths.

"Troye, honey, are you ok? You were shouting in your sleep," Troye's mom sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his back. "You're soaked with sweat," she said.

"Sorry mum, I'm fine," Troye said. She felt him shudder. "Just a bad dream is all." They both frowned.

"It's okay baby. Did you dream about that boy?" Troye nodded. He had come home that night and told his whole family about the boy that jumped off of the bridge. They were all freaked out, but not as much as Troye. Well, his mother might have been even more concerned than he was. She was very protective, and always worried about her children. She swept her short, black bangs off of her forehead and sighed. "Do you want to talk about it some more?" They had already exhausted the topic at the table last night, before Troye's father filed a police report.

"No, I'm just really tired right now. The had me at the police station really late last night," Troye said.

"I know, I picked you up." Troye's mom smiled. She hugged her middle son.

"Well, do you want to skip school today? Your father and I agreed that you could take the day off."

"No, I don't want to get behind on my work," Troye said. "Really, I feel fine. I'm still a little freaked out, but really the biggest problem right now is that-" Troye yawned, "I'm just really tired." He got a kiss on his forehead.

"Well, your father is downstairs making breakfast. We will fix you up a big cup of coffee. Lots of cream and sugar, right?" Troye smiled.

"Thanks mum." They hugged again, then Troye was left alone. He laid his head back on his pillow and replayed the last night's events behind closed eyes. He pictured the boy's face right before he jumped. Troye was certain that he had never seen that kid before. He would have remembered if he had; the boy caught Troye's fancy immediately. Not that it was love at first sight, of course. Troye's heart had jumped in his chest in the same sensation that any pubescent teenager feels when they see someone cute walking past in the supermarket. He looked so pretty right before the fall. The pink and purple sunset behind him had made the boy look larger than life, almost not real, like a vignette by a, idealist and love-struck painter.

But then the boy jumped. Or, more accurately, he just fell backwards. Troye and this boy were face to face, almost touching noses, and then they just weren't anymore. The boy was just gone. Troye still saw the boy's eyes in his mind. They were serene, as if he was happy to just let go of the railing. Troye also imagined that there was some lust in his eyes, but he quickly shook the idea from his head.

The next moments were chilling. He reached out for the boy, but he was too far away. Troye watched him fall all the way down. The boy fell into the water head first, with his feet up in the air. There was a sickening thud, and then a splash. And then he was gone. The black water below swallowed him up, and the sun had set at that moment, so there was no way for Troye to see anything at the bottom. After that, he just ran home. He didn't stop until he reached his front door, burst in, and told his parent's everything that he saw. The next couple of hours were all questions.

Who was he?

What were you doing on the bridge?

Did he say anything?

Did you push him?

That last one hurt. Troye was ultimately out of blame's way, and he didn't really have that much information, but he was overwhelmed by all of the questions. By the time he got back home at midnight, Troye just collapsed onto his bed and immediately went to sleep. Of course, he didn't sleep soundly. Not with that awful dream. He hoped that it wouldn't become a recurring dream. Did he have PTSD? He hoped not. Troye was thinking about all of the psychological problems that could come with this experience, when he felt a weight on his belly and a caress on his cheek. Troye shot up out of his covers and sat up straight. There was no one else in the room with him. He sighed. Maybe he was going to have some issues after all. But, maybe it would only be when he was asleep or had his eyes closed. Troye decided then to get out of bed and start his day.

Troye made his way towards the bathroom and locked the door. He took off his shirt before turning on the shower, and dialed the knob to ensure that the water would be hot. He slid his pajama pants on and let them pool around his ankles. He never wore boxers to bed. Troye walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. His eyes were droopy, so he splashed some cold water on his face from the sink. A chill ran through his body, and Troye shivered slightly. A thick steam was emanating from the shower, and Troye pulled back the curtain and got inside. He adjusted the nozzle until the water was as hot as he could bear. Troye stood under the stream of the shower for a moment before reaching for the head/body wash. He lathered his hair first, then rubbed the rest of the soap on his chest, arms, and legs. Troye turned back around and held his face under the steamy stream. He didn't even rub the soap off of him. He just let the water wash it all away. When he was sufficiently clean and free of suds, Troye turned his back to the water and rubbed his eyes. He opened them, but then had to rub them again to make sure that he was seeing correctly. In the steam was a phantom that stood as tall as Troye did. There was nobody there, but the steam shifted around the form of a person and outlined his shape and dimensions. The steam swirled up towards Troye as a ghostly arm reached up to touch his face. Troye screamed, and fell out of the shower, through the curtain, and onto the bathroom tile.


	4. Chapter 4: And Into the Light

Chapter 4: This is Where the Fun Starts

"I'm telling you guys, it was surreal." Troye was sitting in his usual spot in the lunchroom with his usual cohorts. Laptops had already taken the places of their finished sandwiches and chips. Blessing was typing away on his keyboard, but Troye had Connor's undivided attention.

"It was like a ghost, or something, in my shower," Troye was saying. Connor's eyes were wide as a dinner plate.

"There has to be an explanation," Connor said. "Like, maybe you were just hallucinating?"

"Oh, you don't really believe that Troye saw a ghost," Blessing said.

"But what if it was… you know." Connor didn't want to mention the boy that jumped from the bridge the night before. However, the other two immediately understood what he implied. Blessing held a finger up to his lips, but Troye just shook his head.

"I don't think I _really_ saw anything, but it must have had something to do with… him." Blessing and Connor feigned ignorance. "The boy." Still no reaction. "From last night." Blessing was the first to break the act.

"Troye, are you sure that you want to talk about it? I mean, you are obviously really shaken up. Maybe you should talk to the counselor?" In truth, neither of Troye's friends wanted to discuss what Troye had seen the night before. They always wanted to have his back, don't you forget it, but they were scared of talking about a suicide that their own friend had witnessed.

Connor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, definitely talk to a counselor or something. Uhh…" he hesitated for a moment, thinking about how to proceed. "The counselor helped me out a lot, I'm sure he could help you, too."

"You went to see the counselor before?" Troye asked. This was the first time he had heard of it.

"This is the first time I heard of that," Blessing said.

"Yeah, I went to him a little while ago. He was great." Connor said. Troye and Blessing both wanted to inquire further, but they could tell that Connor was embarrassed about having to talk to a therapist.

"Well, I don't think I'm going to talk to a counselor. I don't really see the point," Troye said. "That's what I have yous guys for." He giggled. Troye had a way of absent mindedly mispronouncing words. Blessing never found this habit annoying. Connor found it really cute and playful (not that he would ever admit it [in those words] to Troye, or anyone else) and loved whenever Troye added some little s's to his words.

"So what are you going to do?" Blessing asked. Connor was conspicuously silent, contemplating Troye's comment for a moment.

"I'm just going to edit this video that I have saved on iMovie," Troye said. "It will take my mind off of things, hopefully. Besides, I don't believe that the kid died or anything," Troye said cheerfully. To a trained psychologist, Troye's hardiness would have seemed like denial. "It was the bridge right down the street from my house. Like, the one we jump off all the time? He was probably just some stupid kid that wanted to play by himself at night." That last part, Troye didn't even believe himself. The kid definitely sounded like he wanted to kill himself. What he told Troye made him seem so hopeless. But, he didn't appear hopeless at all. The boy acted cool and calm, and even a little happy. Although, that could have meant that he was had just accepted his death. Troye didn't know what suicidal people looked like. He had never met one. He glanced over at Connor, who was picking at some EasyMac with a plastic fork.

"Wait, you already made a new video in between yesterday and today?" Blessing said. He was content with just taking Troye's word for it and drop the subject altogether.

"No, I made two videos the other day, and only edited the cake one to post to YouTube."

"Well, if anything will take your mind off of that kid, it's one of your cute videos," Connor said. His face immediately turned red when he realized which Freudian adjective he had selected.

"Aww, thanks buddy." Troye playfully scrunched up his face as delivered a light punch Connor's arm. Blessing was staring at him with a look of blatant disbelief. Troye put his hands back at his sides. He thought that Bless was going to make another joke about Connor's sexuality. Troye shook his head quickly while he uttered, "What" leaving out the 'a' so that is was really more like 'wht."

"Hey Troye, I loved your video." Troye felt his own face turn red when he heard the unmistakable voice of Sarah Thatcher behind him. He quickly turned around to gaze upon her glorious visage. troye noticed how her golden hair seemed to wave in the wind and shimmer in the sunlight, even though they were inside a stuffy school cafeteria. He thought of how much he had admired her throughout the years, for being so perfect and beautiful. His brain seemed to split in half when he heard her angelic voice imparting praise his way.

"Uh," Troye said. Sarah smiled.

"The rainbow cake video, you know? Yeah, I just found your channel last night. I was feeling kind of lonely in my room, and your cute little face cheered me right up!" She would never call a straight guy attractive in any way right to their face: such a compliment would reveal too much about herself. However, since she knew that Troye was gay, she treated him like she would treat a girl. Now, girls and boys, you shouldn't automatically treat gay people like girls, because they are, by definition, boys (or men). Troye liked the compliment, though, because "cute" was what he was going for.

"Thanks, Sarah," Troye tried to regain his cool. "I worked really hard on it, you know." He bobbed his chin. At this moment Troye noticed that although his torso was all the way turned around in his seat, his legs were still firmly under the table. He internally cringed at how ridiculous he must look, but he decided that it was too late to fix it now.

"Oh, I also reblogged it on my Tumblr, I hope you don't mind," Sarah said. Troye's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," Troye said. He could feel an uncontrollable urge to laugh bubble up inside of him, which kind of hurt, because Troye's torso was still twisted in such an odd way. With Herculean effort, he pushed the laughter back down. "But thank you soo much anyway. Really."

Sarah laughed. Then she noticed what was on his computer screen. "Hey, is that a new video that you're editing?" Her face was lit up. In that, I mean that she wore a bright smile, and not that God had come down from Heaven above to crank up the Holy Spotlight that he had arranged to be pointed at her face during all hours of the day.

Troye's torso snapped back around, and he slammed the computer screen shut. He was heaving a little, not only because he was embarrassed, but also because his previous contortion hadn't allowed him to breath all that well. Sarah laughed again, not unkindly. She was always in a good mood, it seemed, no matter what happened around her.

"I get it. I can't see it until it's done. You know, embarrassment of one's work is one sign of a true artist," Sarah said. "Or so I've heard." Troye nodded. "Well, maybe you could give me a sneak peak on Friday? Marissa is having a party, and maybe we could get ready together." Troye, Blessing, and Connor's faces lit up.

"Yeah, sure, what time?" Troye said.

"We can just text about it later, here's my number," Sarah said.

"Uh, can Blessing and Connor come, too?" Troye asked as Sarah took his phone and added her contact information.

"To the party or to my house beforehand?"

He looked around to his friends, and then turned back to Sarah. "Both?"

"Well, you two can both come to the party," Sarah was addressing Connor and Blessing. "And Blessing can come get ready at my house before, but… isn't Connor straight?"

"Uh… Yeah… I am," Connor said. Blessing's eyes rolled in the same orbit of an electron around a Hydrogen atom, imperceptible to the naked eye.

"Okay, so then you get why I can't have you over while we are all showering and stuff," Sarah said. "No offense, I hope."

"No none taken." Connor smiled and lifted up his hand in a way that communicated: "You're fine."

"Well if that's the case, then I'll just hang back with Connor," Blessing said. "We're his only friends, and I can't have him going to the party unescorted." Connor stuck his tongue out at Bless.

"Okay, well, Troye? Would you still want to come over to my house?" Troye looked at both of his friends, who gave him nods of approval.

"Sure, I can't wait," Troye said.

"Perfect," Sarah said. She handed Troye's phone back to him. "Don't forget. I'll text you all the details later."

"Okay, see you." Troye said. When Sarah was safely out of earshot, the boys began freaking out.

"Oh. My. God. This is crazy. This has never happened before," Troye said. "Why would she suddenly invite us to a party? We've never been invited to a party before."

"It's because she saw your video and really like it. You're basically famous now, Troye," Blessing said. Troye smiled broadly, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah, well, don't forget us little guys," Connor said. "And Blessing, thanks for hanging back with me."

"You know I would never leave you, babe," Blessing said.

"Yeah, I bet you would love to see Sarah getting ready to go to a party, though," Troye said. "Isn't that like every straight guy's dream?"

"Yeah… she's so… hot," Connor said awkwardly. Blessing's eyes began to share their valence electrons to become Helium.

"Well, I don't even know how she could have discovered my video. I haven't told anyone about it or shared it anywhere," Troye said.

"Maybe Bob told her about it? Don't they go out?" Blessing said.

"Yeah that must be it," Connor said. "Although how he found it I will never know."

"I don't know," Troye said. He opened his laptop to check on his channel. He wasn't expecting much more than 31 views on his video, one more than the previous day. When Troye opened up his account, his heart nearly stopped.

"Oh…"

"Or maybe she heard one of us talking about it in class?"

"My…"

"No, I don't have any class with her. Do you?"

"Guys…"

"I don't either. Troye—Whoa, what's the matter?"

Troye's eyes were wide and his face was white. It was almost like he saw a ghost for the second time that day.

"Holy… fuck… guys…" Troye couldn't get his voice about a whisper. He just pointed at his computer screen. Connor and Blessing got up from their chairs to look.

Most of the people in the spacious cafeteria turned their attention to the boys' table for a moment during the ensuing commotion.

Bob was yelling from all the way across the room. "HEY, QUIET THE FUCK DOWN!"

The boys couldn't hear him. Blessing was jumping up and down. Connor was fanning his face with his hand. Troye just stared at his computer screen, his jaw in his lap and his heart in his throat. He saw a certain number, one that wasn't that big in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, but one that nevertheless twisted up his organs worse than a Sarah Thatcher on your 6'. This number left him awestruck for a moment. He tried in vain to communicate the number that he saw.

Connor spoke the number for Troye, instead. . "10,000 subscribers?!"

Connor could barely contain his excitement. Seeing Troye sad for so long had brought down his own mood even lower than usual. He had to sit by watch as his best friend struggled with his dream of making cool videos for people around the world to see. He obviously had a passion for it, and he was really good at it, but without recognition Troye felt like a failure. It made it even worse when he was not only neglected online, but openly ridiculed in the real world. Now that all of his hard work paid off, Connor felt just as excited as Troye, maybe even more so.

Troye's body stayed stiff as a board as he turned his head slowly towards Connor. He wore an expression somewhere disbelief and horror. Connor's own smile threatened to tear his face in half. Troye slowly began to process what happened, and then sat back in his chair, with the biggest grin that he had worn in a while. Blessing sat back in his chair, but was still bouncing up and down in manual dance.

"Troye? This is awesome. How did this happen?" Connor moved in real close to Troye and touched his arm. Troye just shrugged.

"I don't know," he was at a loss for words. "I'm at a loss for words. Yesterday I had 10 subscribers. Today I have 10,000. How it that even frigging possible?"

"I don't know, but it's just what you wanted, right? This is a dream come true!" Blessing had stopped dancing by then, and sat there breathing heavily, exhaling and inhaling through a wide smile.

Troye shook the surprise out of himself and smiled warmly at his friends. Butterflies were still swirling around inside of him, but he paid them no mind. Troye wasn't usually a laidback guy, and he tended to get excited easily. However, he was also usually very shy, so he rarely displayed his emotions. An army of 10,000 subscribers could rally Troye's emotions out of him, though. He couldn't stop thinking to himself _This is crazy, this is crazy_ until he worried that his face would reflect that of a crazy person. He put his hand on Connor's shoulder.

"Connor, I don't know what to think right now. This is honestly the craziest thing I have ever seen. 10,000 followers in one night? I think I'm shocked. Like, I cannot possibly even fathom what is going on anymore. Is this real life? Am I in the Matrix or something?" He cupped both of Connor's cheeks in his hands. "Pinch me! Am I dreaming?"

"You're not dreaming, Troye," Blessing said from across the table. Just then, the bell rang.

"Unless that's my alarm clock," Troye said.

"Well then you better wake up, because you're late for school," Connor said.

"Congratulations, buddy," Connor and Blessing said together as they prepared to go to their respective classes. They all packed up their things. Most of their hands were shaking. They could barely believe that this was possible, but it was undeniable. Troye Sivan now had a faithful following of ten thousand fans on YouTube.


	5. Chapter 5: What a Dick

Chapter 5: What a Dick

Troye went through the rest of the day in a haze. He kept pinching himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Other students that he had never even talked to before kept coming up to him to tell him how funny his video was. Troye always just nodded or said "Thank you." He couldn't believe that he was really getting recognition for his work.

"Hey Troye! That One Direction cover you did was really good."

"Oh my god, Troye, you inspired me to make my own cake last night! My mom came downstairs at midnight and started freaking out when I was baking!"

"Bro, I know we've never talked before, but that way that you sang Dumb Ways to die? Shit was cash, man."

Troye smiled and thanked all of them. He had never ingested any sort of controlled Substance before, but he felt like this is what it must be like to be high. In class, kids would whisper and point at him, smiling. Usually, whenever that happened, Troye would feel self-conscious because he would assume that people were making fun of him. But this time, he was under the impression that those people were admiring him from afar. His heart skipped a beat when he heard himself being compared to his hero, Tyler Oakley.

"This is crazy, right?" Connor and Troye had met up in front of the school after classes let out for the day. The 3:00 sun was shining, the birds were singing, and flowers were swaying in the breeze. The phrase "pathetic fallacy" briefly popped into Troye's head (the term "lampshaded" just popped into mine). The boys began their walk home. Blessing couldn't meet up with them; he had to go right home and help his mom unpack her bags from a trip she took. Blessings mother was always taking long trips, and she took numerous bags with her, but for some reason she always refused to take her bags to or from the car to or from the house. It's not that she had a tantrum about it or anything. The bags would simply sit there until Blessing took care of them. Troye was saying all of this out loud.

"I know why he isn't here right now," Connor said. "Are you not totally excited? Why aren't you talking about it with me?" The two boys talked about nearly everything together. Two Tai twins conjoined by a corpus callosum didn't share as many thoughts as Troye and Connor.

Troye was still a bit shocked, and couldn't really believe that he had actually somehow amassed 10,000 followers in one night. "I just don't believe it," he told Connor. "Like, I was miserable yesterday after Bob bullied me in the lunch room. And now I'm just on top of the world. It's like I feel numb or something. Like nothing can touch me."

"Hey fag." Bob seemed to come out of nowhere, and planted his hand firmly against Troye's chest. Surprisingly, the bigger boy was alone. "What are you doing talking to my girlfriend?"

"She just asked me if I was going to the party tomorrow," Troye said.

"And you're not, right?" Bob's narrowing eyes served as an inverse function for Connor's.

"Yeah, I am actually," Troye said. "Connor is going too." Connor rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly.

Bob curled his fingers into Troye's shirt, so that he had a balled up wad of it in his hand. "And what is this about you going over to my girl's house before? You trying to fuck her or something?"

Troye tried to back away, but found that Bob's grip was less lenient than Bob's own father. "Um, you called me a fag, and you still think I'm going to try to have sex with your girlfriend?" Troye was looked at Bob right in the eyes. He wasn't afraid.

"Look man, all I know is that when my girlfriend comes around saying that she's gonna have some guy over when she's taking a shower and stuff, that guy is usually me? You hear? So when she tells me that you, of all people, are coming over to help her get dressed, you can understand that I'm going to be a little concerned."

"Bob, I'm gay. You know this. Sarah knows this. All I'm going to do is help her pick out a top that matches her mascara."

Bob chuckled. Troye realized that Bob wasn't angry. In fact, it was quite obvious that Bob was enjoying this whole thing. Connor, in the background, silently feared what Bob's good mood, coupled with his intimidating hand placement, might mean for Troye.

"Okay, kid, so here's what's what," Bob said. "I'm not a bad guy, so I let Sarah keep her little play date. Err, gay date." He put his face closer to Troye's. "But f I hear that you're getting frisky or whatever you fags call it, I'm gonna chop off your dick and feed it to my iguana. Okay?"

The threat sounded like it was straight out of a movie. Troye wasn't intimidated by such a cartoony threat like that. "You'd like to touch my dick, wouldn't you, Bob?"

The color drained from Bob's face, and he moved his head as far back as it could go while still keeping his hand firmly curled up in Troye's shirt. "What the fuck did you just say?" Bob said. He wore a sneer like he had just sniffed some bad cheese. Bob, as the most homophobic person at Troye's school, couldn't believe what he was hearing. He looked around his shoulder, as if to make sure that none of his friends or relatives had heard the slanderous slur that had slithered from between Troye's teeth. Bob didn't want to touch anyone's dick, (other than his own) and he decided to prove it. Of course, he decided to prove it, by touching Troye's dick.

"Fuuuuuuuuuhhhh." Troye's eye's squeezed shut and his mouth formed an "O" as he sank to his knees. Bob, of course, didn't touch Troye's dick with his hands, but with his right kneecap, and with 3 layers of clothes between them. Right then and there, in the school parking lot, Bob had hit Troye down under, right in his Australian cahones.

"Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that again," Bob said. "Okay gay boy?" Bob walked away, leaving Troye on the ground, nauseous with pain. Connor knelt to rub his back and help him stand.

"Are you okay? Oh my god, Bob is such a dick," Connor said. Troye didn't speak for a few minutes. He had to catch his breath. When he finally spoke he said:

"Please, don't even mention the word 'dick' for a while."

As the boys started to walk on towards home, Connor whimpered, "But I thought you love dick." Troye smiled and punched his arm.

"When did you get so bold?" Troye asked. If there was a category for it, Connor would be the one voted "Most G Rated" in the yearbook. He didn't usually curse, he hadn't ever kissed a girl, and he wasn't fond of dirty jokes.

"This whole day just has my adrenaline pumping," Connor said. "Like, first you get like 10,000 followers, and then you get into a fight with Bob?" He fanned his face and pretended to swoon. "I swear I might just pass out from all the excitement."

"Talk to me about passing out why don't you," Troye said. "I've never been hit in the balls before. It hurts like a fucking bitch." He gingerly cupped his crotch with his hand. His meat was still tender.

"We'll put some ice on it when… you get home," Connor said. Troye didn't notice the slip.

"Yeah, I guess so. I can't believe Bob would do something like that."

"You don't believe that? He is the biggest jerk in our school. I knew he was going to do something like that when he first grabbed your shirt."

"Then why didn't you do anything?" Troye asked. He instantly regretted saying that when he saw Connor look down in shame. "Hey, I'm just kidding, kid," Troye said. He put his arm over Connor's shoulder, and replaced the hand-jock with his other hand. "I didn't expect you to do anything, really. You couldn't have known what he was going to do. And besides, who would want to mess with Bob?"

Connor wiped subdermal tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Troye. I would have done something, but I was just… scared… is all."

Troye smiled as wide as he could, even though he didn't feel particularly happy at that point. "Hey bud, if it means anything, my balls could use a good kicking right now. I felt my ego getting a little too big earlier today."

Connor smiled weakly. "This is my street," he said, "But you forgive me, right?"

Troye said, "Of course I do. How could I not? You're my best friend. I could never be mad at you." He almost went in for a hug, but then remembered how shy Connor could get when Troye tried to show him bodily affection. "And hey," he added instead, "It's not like you kicked me in the balls yourself."

Connor turned down his street, and Troye walked on towards his own home. The physical pain of testicular trauma had brought him out of his mind. He focused on the things that he had never really noticed before. The May flowers were really in bloom after the April showers, and that April's voice had consistently reverberated through the bathroom tile. Troye realized that he never really appreciated the place that he lived. The air was clear, the sky was bright and sunny. The grass was green and there were birds and squirrels, and trees to house them both. The detail was incredible. Troye spent a lot of his time online, especially on Tumblr, and he didn't really get out much. Walking through the warm May air felt great. Or maybe it was that Troye himself just felt great, even after the nut-cracking he had just received, and the beautiful weather just amplified his good mood.

Troye had always dreamed of having his art being received positively over the Internet. Since he perused the net so often, he had grown to love the people that put content online. His favorite online personality was Tyler Oakley by far. Tyler had kept Troye company for about a year now. When Troye had just come out, he felt alone and nervous, even though everyone that he talked to was very supportive. There was just something about being exposed that was new to Troye, who had spent almost 19 years of his life living a lie. When he found Tyler, he found someone who he could relate to. He found someone who spoke with the voice of the LGBT youth. He had found a role model. He had found a friend.

Troye found himself obessing with Tyler. He checked his idol's Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, and Snapchat almost compulsively. After months of lurking, Troye decided that he would follow in his hero's footsteps and start to make YouTube videos. Troye secretly hoped that Tyler would acknowledge his accomplishments, but he never spoke of his dream outright. He considered it more of a delusion than a goal. But now that he had 10,000 followers, his delusion had the chance to become a reality. Troye knew that, while it was hard to get started, fame could start to compound quickly once it got some momentum. Maybe meeting Tyler was actually feasible…

But how did he get so many followers? How was it possible that he could gain tens of thousands of subscribers in one night? Could his cake video be that good? Was it the pinnacle of baked goods based entertainment? While Troye had enjoyed making his video, and thought that it turned out great, he didn't think that that one video could have netted him 10,000 followers. But then… what could it have been? Sarah had reblogged it, but not even she was popular enough to amass such a crowd so quickly. Troye reckoned that she had around 2,000 followers on Tumblr. Troye was approaching the bridge one which he had had such a unique experience the night before. What he saw now made him stop, because it was even crazier than what had happened the last night.

It was about 3:45, so the sun was still bright in the sky. People walked casually down the street without jumping aside or shielding their eyes. Cars drove past the bridge without honking their horns. A couple kids sat across the street, and they weren't filming anything with their phones. A couple of girls in bikinis were standing on the edge of the bridge, about to jump in. They were laughing and looking down at the water.

None of that was strange in the least bit. What was strange, was that there was a tall boy with dark hair standing stark naked on the sidewalk, masturbating casually. His clothes were balled up on the sidewalk next to him. He was staring up at the girls on the edge of the bridge.

"Hey girls, how about you turn around and take your tops off?" The boy stood straight up, with one hand on his hip and the other one pumping away. Troye heard the faint fapping sound from where he was standing.

Troye looked all around, but no one seemed to be doing anything about this kid. He debated crossing the street, but then decided against it. His day had already been so strange, and his adrenaline was still flowing, so Troye decided to see what was up with this kid. The girls jumped into the water below. Troye heard a splash. Usually, when people jumped from the bridge, they had to swim underneath it to climb back up on the bank. The boys on the other side of the street ran to the railing to watch the girls emerge on the other side. No one else was on the street.

"Hey, where did you go?" The boy put both hands on the railing and leaned over the edge. Troye walked up right behind him. He resisted the urge to look at the buttocks that were presented before him.

"Um, hey, what do you think you're doing?" Troye asked. The boy didn't turn around. Troye furrowed his brow, and tried again, louder. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

The boy stopped looking into the water below. He straightened up, then turned slowly around until he was face to face with Troye. Well about 7 inches away from Troye's face. "Well I'll be fucked," he said. "You can see me?"


	6. Chapter 6: Pinch Me

Chapter 6: Pinch Me

Troye couldn't believe his eyes. Standing in front of him was the boy from the night before. Troye had thought that the kid was dead. He thought that he had witnessed a suicide. But now it made a lot more sense. The boy was clearly insane. That explained why he wanted to kill himself with a recreational bridge, and that was why he was standing naked on said bridge 20 hours later. Troye immediately felt remorse for the boy. He couldn't help the fact that he had a mental issue. Troye considered it a tragedy that someone so young could have already lost his mind, and he decided that he wanted to get this boy to a hospital or some kind of treatment center as soon as possible. He knew that his mom would help drive him, and she would get him get back into his clothes as well. Troye was about to offer him a ride home, when the boy reached out and gripped the hem at the bottom of Troye's tee-shirt.

"So, are we doing this or what?" The boy exposed Troye's skinny, pale torso. Troye yelped and flailed his arms, and the boy let go of his shirt. Troye took a few steps back, panting.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Mental illness or not, Troye didn't want some nudist to try to convert him.

"What? I was going to try to bang those chicks, but they jumped into the water," the boy said, flicking his thumb behind him to point at the now empty railing. "But you'll do, too. You're really cute, you know." The boy made another advance, his bare feet plopping against the concrete of the sidewalk. Troye jumped back again and held his arms out to keep the boy at bay.

"We aren't doing anything like that you freak," Troye said automatically. His face was burning. He didn't mean to call the boy a freak, but Troye was very startled. "You need help. Let's get your clothes on and get you to a hospital." He checked behind him to see if the boys across the street were going to come to his aid. They were still looking out over the railing on the other side. Troye heard the faint sound of girlish laughter and splashing from below.

"A hospital? Fuck that, I don't need a hospital. That would be a waste of dream time. Let's just do this already. You're the only one that has been able to see me all day. It's my dream, the least you could do is make it a pleasant one for me." He took a couple of steps towards Troye, who felt incredibly awkward because he saw, for the first time, how an erect penis behaves when its owner walks around. It pointed towards one side of the bridge, then the other, back and forth, like an ambivalent child's arm in the candy aisle at the super market. The boy was a little hunched over, as if his upper body was trying to get closer to this new cache of blood.

Troye kept backing up, and kept his hands outstretched. "Look, man, you're not dreaming. This is real life. You are really naked in public right now. Look," Troye reached out and slapped the boy in the face. He didn't strike him too hard, and the contact sounded like a halfhearted high-five that might be shared between two people who had just solved an atypically difficult and boring math problem for homework.

The boy stopped in his tracks and felt at his face. There was already a little mark above the boy's rigid jaw. He looked at Troye dead in the eyes. Then he looked over at the other high school boys who were still leaning over the railing. No one else was on the street, and not even a car had passed by since Troye and the boy had started talking. The boy raised one finger, as if he was about to bring up an important point. Then he did something that Troye didn't expect.

The boy stomped his foot on the ground and slapped his hands against his bare thighs, the way that a toddler would do whilst throwing a tantrum. "This dream sucks. At first I thought that it was awesome, because lucid dreaming is one of my favorite hobbies. But I can't talk to anyone, I can't fly, I can't spawn things, and I can't even have sex with people." He sat down against the railing so that his knees were up near his ears. He rested his arms on his kneecaps and sunk his head down between his legs. "What's the point of having a lucid dream if you can't fly or have sex with people?" At this angle, Troye didn't have a problem seeing what else was between his legs, but he blushed and jerked his head away when he found himself peeking.

Troye slowly exhaled to calm himself down. He had lost his composure for a second. He forgave himself, though, due to the circumstances. Who wouldn't freak out if a naked boy were groping them? Although, it could be worse, Troye thought. The boy could have been fat or gross. This boy was rippled in muscle, with strong arms, chest, and thighs. Troye was a little confused, because the boy didn't look so muscular the night before. His jaw didn't seem as strong, either, and his hair didn't seem as thick. Troye shook his head at himself, fantasizing so openly about this kid who was in need. He squatted until he was at the same level as the boy, careful not to look down further than his face, no matter how tempting it was. He mentally kicked himself at even thinking about thinking about this poor boy in such a sexually explicit way.

"Hey, this isn't a dream, okay?" Troye spoke calmly and tried to make his voice sound soothing. He didn't want to freak anybody out, but he did want to tell the boy the exact situation that they were in. He figured that if he told the boy the truth, then maybe it would knock some sense into him and he would be cooperative. "You are standing, naked, on a bridge, at 3:30 PM," Troye said, segmenting his sentences so that they could be easily digested. "This is real life. I am real. I can help you get dressed if you want, and I can also drive you to a hospital if you think you need it." Troye held out his hand, and the boy took it, rising up with Troye's help.

"So, this isn't a dream?" The boy stared into Troye's eyes as if he were challenging him. The way the boy had asked it, the question could have come from hour 3 of an intense interrogation. Troye just looked back at the kid's eyes, trying to appear somber. Troye shook his head 'no.'

"So then, what you're saying is…" the boy continued, "That… that…" Troye waited for the boy to finish. The boy closed his eyes, as if he were trying to remember something. An inadvertent glance revealed to Troye that the boy was bloodless. "That my unwilling solipsistic delusions were correct, and this universe and all that inhabit it are merely figments of my subconscious memory that have somehow seeped partially into my conscious mind, allowing me passive control over time, space, and Other's free will, based on my various automatic emotional states?" The boy opened his eyes again and looked back at Troye.

"Um. No?" Troye didn't really understand what the boy had said. He wished for a moment that it had been transcribed so that he could read it back to himself and decipher what the boy had meant. The vibrated air that the boy had created was now gone from time and space forever, though, but to Troye it had sounded like pure nonsense. Also, Troye had learned years ago to answer "No" to any question that he did not fully hear. Either way, this boy was clearly bonkers.

The boy turned red from his face all the way down to his torso. He jogged over to his clothes, bent down, and shuffled them around until he found his boxers. Still bent over, he stepped into them and then stood upright, pulling his underwear with him until he was decent. His baggy boxers were decorated with little cartoons of ethnically diverse boxers on them, each one wearing red gloves and boxer's shorts.

He silently got dressed. Troye stood a decent distance away, motionless. He didn't really know what to do: the situation was too bizarre. He watched the boy's back muscles stretch as he bent over to pull on his slim-fit khakis, then he took a knee to put on his socks and shoes. Troye noticed that they boy put on the sock and shoe of one foot before he started on the other one. He was wearing gray vans. The boy solemnly buttoned up his white dress shirt, and then pulled his gray thermal over the top. Troye approached him as he fixed his collar so that it fit neatly over the crew neck.

"Are you ready to go?" Troye said. "We can go back to my house and then we can go to a hospital." The boy said nothing for a minute.

"So if this isn't a dream, then why can't anyone see me?" The boy looked earnestly at Troye. He wasn't asking a loaded question. He actually wanted an answer.

"Well, that's not true. I can see you," Troye said.

"Right, but no one else can," The boy said. "Look. I'll show you." The boy turned towards the street, and looked to his left and right to check for cars. Then he walked across the street to where the boys had finally lost interest in the girls down below. The three boys were sitting on the railing talking to one another. The boy walked right in front of them, but they didn't look up. He started to yell at them and wave his hands around, but still no one looked up from the conversation. The boy jumped up and down, do jumping jacks, push ups, and even started to dance the Macarena. Then he started to pretend to punch each of the boys, swinging his fist and stopping it only an inch in front of their faces, screaming 'Ah!' each time he swung. None of the boys even flinched. At this point, Troye decided to step in and stop him. The boys were clearly just ignoring him because he was acting so weird. He looked both ways and jogged across the street. The other boys saw Troye coming, and they looked up to stare at him. The boy was waving his open palms in front of two of the boys faces.

"Hey guys, I'm sorry for my friend. I'm gonna get him out of here." Troye said. The other boys said nothing, but gave Troye quizzical looks. "Come on, bud. Let's get you home," Troye said.

"Uh, are you talking to me," one of the boys asked. A couple of thin grins spread across the other two boy's faces.

"No, sorry, I'm talking to him," Troye said, flicking a thumb towards the boy.

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Another boy looked at Troye like _he_ was the one who had just performed the most embarrassing dance of the 90s.

"My friend right here," Troye said. He put his arm around the broad shoulders of the boy who was otherwise being ignored.

One of the other boys hopped off the railing and pretended to put him arm around an invisible person, mimicking Troye. "Hey guys, I think he's here to take his girlfriend back." The two other boys laughed.

"Yeah, that's the best he can do, huh?"

"She's just so skinny that you can't see her when she turns sideways."

"But that means that she's flat as a board."

"No ass. No tits. Shit, it doesn't look like she has any body parts at all."

Troye, through wide eyes, looked at the boy he was holding. He shrugged.

"Hey, what would you rather," one of the other boys said as the pack started to walk away, laughing. "A girl with no tits and the fattest ass, or a girl with big tits and the flattest ass?"

"You really don't see him?" Troye shouted after the boys. They ignored him.

"See? I told you I was dreaming," the boy said. He showed Troye a broad smile that exposed his teeth. Troye gasped and dropped his arm from around the boy's shoulder. Troye hadn't noticed while they were conversing earlier, but now that he was so close it was obvious: The boy's mouth was filled with thick, sharp canines.


	7. Chapter 7: Mental Mastication

Chapter 7:

Troye winced as the a cut up piece of grilled chicken was picked off of his brother's plate. The boy examined it for a moment before popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He looked over at Troye and shook his head.

"Nothing. This chicken has absolutely no flavor," the boy said. He had already sampled the cheesy scalloped potatoes, the creamy tomato soup, and the green, steamy broccoli that were set on the table. Each time he ate another piece of food, he complained to Troye how bland it all was.

"Food's delicious, Grandma," Tyde said. Troye's little brother took no notice of his pilfered chicken. The rest of the family, Troye's parents and grandparents, didn't see the boy hovering around their periphery, either.

"Well thank you, darling," Grandma said. "I had it marinating in the kitchen all day. I put a lot of work into it."

"As always, dear," Grandpa agreed. He chewed a piece of the succulent chicken behind a wide smile. Troye, on the other hand, hadn't touched his food. He couldn't believe that no one else could see the boy when he was clearly standing in front of them. Four hours had passed since Troye had met the boy on the bridge, and yet no one even acknowledged the bulky intruder as he had sat on the couch, walked around the house, and raided the fridge. Even on the walk back to Troye's house, Troye had gotten incredulous looks from a few pedestrians when he asked them if they could help his "friend."

"I don't know what they're talking about, Troye. This dinner tastes like paper," the boy said loudly. "Have you ever eaten paper before?" Troye just stared at him. "Me neither, but this is what I imagine it tastes like." Tyde noticed that Troye was staring at him and gave him a quizzical look.

"Troye, why aren't you eating?" His mother looked concerned. Troye was broken from his reverie for a moment. He picked at his food.

"I'm just not hungry, is all," he said. Troye was a lot more confused at his current situation than the rest of his family was confused at his lack of appetite. Things had started off weird since Troye had picked up the boy from his onanistic frenzy, and not many questions had been answered since. Troye had tried to get some information from the boy, and so far had come up with nothing. The boy didn't know his own name, where he came from, or where he lived. He didn't have any memory at all about his own identity. Interestingly, the boy was familiar to the world around him, though. He could still speak perfect English and he could recall various celebrities and well known historical events when Troye questioned him. But as for personal information, the boy knew as much about himself as Troye knew about him.

"Well, eat up. Your grandmother has prepared this excellent meal for us. You're insulting her," his mother said.

"Speak for yourself," the boy said. As what had happened to him the night before, the boy had little to say. He claimed that he woke up underneath the bridge at around noon with no knowledge of how he got there. After that, the boy had wandered around town for a while, quickly surmising that he was effectively invisible to everyone that he encountered. While he had found it strange, the boy had dismissed his situation as being part of some Kafkaesque dream. He quickly took advantage of his condition, taking whatever food he wanted from restaurants and diners (which immediately lost its appeal) and infiltrating women's locker rooms (which he found far more enthralling). He made his way back to the bridge after a while, where he ran into the first person to see him. No matter how strange things were, however, the boy didn't seem to ever get concerned. He had a lightheartedness to him that one wouldn't expect to possess after waking up with amnesia and apparently existing on some different plane of reality.

Troye put a piece of broccoli in his mouth and chewed unenthusiastically. The delicious juices burst in his mouth.

"Oh, don't worry dear," Grandma said. "I won't take it personally if you're not hungry. I make dinner every night, and you always seem to like it. Besides," she added, "That's what Grandmothers are for, anyway." She smiled warmly.

"Maybe your stomach is just too full of butterflies," Tyde said. He was one of Troye's original subscribers on Youtube, and was just as surprised as Troye was when he saw Troye's channel that day.

"Yeah, that must be it," Troye said quietly. He felt bad keeping this secret from his family. He usually told them everything. But, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to tell his parents that he was hallucinating. It was too freaky. He decided that if the problem persisted for more than a few days, he would bring it up. But for now, he didn't want to upset anyone.

"Well you don't seem too excited," Troye's father said. "When I won my first case, I was ecstatic. I feel like success would make you happy." Troye's dad worked as a defense attorney for security litigations. He was very successful in his field, but never let his accomplishments get to his head. It made sharing emotions with him easy.

"Well, artists are different," Grandma said. "A lot of famous painters still regard their art to be bad, even if it is widely accepted. Don't be too hard on yourself, Troye. You are a very brilliant boy." His Grandpa agreed.

"I just don't feel well. Mind if I go to my room?" Troye pushed his plate away and removed his napkin from his lap before he got an answer.

"Sure, honey. Do you want some medicine?"

"No, thank you. I have some in my bathroom," Troye said. He got up and started for his room. The boy set Grandpa's milk back down on the table and wiped away a milk mustache.

"Is this skim? Grandma, next time, remember, don't go below 2%." He followed Troye to his room.

Troye's room was far away enough from the kitchen that he could talk freely. This helped when he was on Facetime with Blessing or Connor, because no one else could hear their conversations. Just to be careful, though, Troye decided he would keep his volume to a minimum, as well as play some music from his laptop so that his voice would be disguised. He sat down at his desk, opened his computer, and played "Don't Wait" by Mapei from his Spotify.

"Okay, so first of all-"

"Ew, what is this?"

"What?"

"This indie crap music. You listen to this?"

"This is 'Don't Wait' by Mapai. It's good."

"This is some hipster crap. Put on some good ol' rap." The boy smiled at his accidental rhyme. "You like that rhyme? I wasn't even tryin'."

"You see, pretty happy for someone who is invisible to basically 100% of the population."

"Well, yeah. What do I have to be sad about? This is great so far. I can do whatever I want." The boy sat down on the edge of Troye's bed, facing him. "Did you see me at dinner?"

Troye furrowed his brow. "That's what I wanted to talk about. You can't go around messing with my family. I love them more than anything, and if you try to hurt them I will friggin kill you."

The boy put his hands up defensively. "Relax, Troye. I don't even think I could hurt them if I wanted to. It's like me and mere mortals can't interact with each other at all."

"Seriously, don't you even… wait? Mere mortals? What are you calling yourself? A god?"

"I'm not saying I'm all powerful or anything, but I'm definitely not a human. I mean, look at my fucking teeth, for starters. And no one but you can see me? That's not something that happens to normal people."

"Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We have no idea what is going on. For all we know, I could just be hallucinating this whole thing. In fact, that is what I believe."

"You can't seriously believe that," the boy said. Troye swiveled around to face his computer. "Hey? What are you doing?"

"I'm ignoring you," Troye said. "If you're not real, then all I should have to do is just keep in mind that you're not real, and then you will disappear. I'm insane, but I'm not insane enough to not know that I'm insane." Troye glanced up and to the right, trying to think if he said that correctly. The boy did the same.

"Well, how can I prove it to you?" Troye tried to think of some ways. He couldn't come up with any, so he just didn't answer. Instead, he searched online for "Schizophrenia symptoms." He definitely had Hallucinations and Delusions, but he didn't have apathy or emotional flatness. If anything, Troye was becoming even more emotional because of all of these strange occurrences. Troye was just beginning to notice how quiet the boy was being when Troye's plate from the dinner table appeared on his desk.

"Well. That proves it. If I wasn't real, then how would I be able to put this _very real _plate in here?" Troye looked at the plate.

"The plate isn't real," he said.

"Touch it," the boy said. Troye touched it. It was real.

"I walked out of the room and got it, but my delusions made me forget about that and made me think that you did it," Troye said. "Or, replace 'me leaving the room' with 'my mom came in and gave it to me.'"

"Well, there's only one way to find out, but you have to be really sure that I'm a part of your imagination, or else you are going to seem really strange," the boy said. Troye waited. "You're going to have to go out there and ask." Troye sighed and considered his options. While it was definitely strange that this plate had appeared on his desk, it was highly possible that he had just placed it there without remembering. His mind was occupied with a lot of different things that had happened that day. It was definitely alarming that he might be beginning to lose his mind, but all of the unnatural things that were occurring could have just stemmed from a mixture of A: the excitement of both his recent influx of YouTube subscribers and the invitation to his first impressive high school party, and B: the fear from the events that he witnessed last night, the late night at the police station, and the altercation with Bob after school. Troye reflected that he had started hallucinating that morning in the shower, but his visions weren't hyper-real until after school.

The boy looked at Troye expectantly, waiting for him to go into the kitchen. Troye turned back to his computer and opened up YouTube.

"You aren't going to go investigate this utterly strange occurrence?" The boy seemed let down.

"Nope, I'm just going to ignore it," Troye said. "I don't want to freak out my family by acting strange and asking weird questions. They worry too much, and I don't want their worrying to mess with their careers tomorrow."

"That's very noble of you," the boy said.

"Also, if you are a hallucination, but I actively recognize you as such, then you will probably disappear soon. If not, then I will tell my parents." Mental illness are usually tricky for those who have to endure them. Such diseases are still mysterious, even in the scientific community, so people who suffer from them don't really have a lot of precedent to work with. If someone breaks an arm, they will go to the hospital right away. If someone starts hallucinating, but feels no physical pain, they usually try to push through it; this may be because they don't want to seem crazy. At the time, there was a campaign going on to dispel the stigmas attached to mental illness, but Troye was unaware of it.

"Well, I guess that's a sound plan," the boy said. "But trust me on this. I know for a fact that I am not a hallucination. I don't think I'll be going anywhere soon."

"That's just what a hallucination would say," Troye said. They both pondered the statement for a moment. The boy laid back on Troye's bed.

"But a hallucination would only say that if you truly believed that you weren't hallucinating. Since, of course, a hallucination is just a projection within your own mind that you perceive as real. A hallucination can only know what you know." The boy sat up straight. "Oh, I got it!" He rushed over to Troye and picked up his laptop. "Take me to Church" by Hozier was playing.

"Hey!" Troye jumped out of his chair, but the boy held his hand up, open palm, in the universal symbol of 'stop.'

"Hear me out. If I'm not a hallucination, then I can know things that you don't know." Troye swiped at his laptop, but the boy ducked away and spun around the room. Incredibly, he was able to balance the open laptop on one flat hand while he danced around the room.

"Don't drop it," Troye said in an angry whisper. He didn't want his family to hear him fighting with himself.

"Then stop attacking me," the boy said. He held Troye away at arm's length, with the laptop another arm's length away. "Listen. I will look something up online that you don't know, and then you can look at it to see if I'm right." Troye admitted defeat to the boy's arm and backed away.

"Okay, thank you," the boy said. Facing Troye, so that he couldn't see the screen, the boy clicked around for a second before saying, "Okay, how many YouTube subscribers do you have? Wait. Never mind. You would already know that."

"I know. I have 10,000 subscribers. I just looked at it today," Troye said. "Now give me back my laptop."

"Nope."

"Nope?" Troye was getting angry, which was exacerbated by his belief that he was getting angry at himself.

The boy smiled. "Nope. I thought you would know that," he laughed. "You do not have 10,000 subscribers. Not even close." Troye's heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Maybe a lot of his subscribers unsubscribed when they found out how bad his videos were. Maybe his burst of fame was like an explosion: it expanded very quickly, but soon was reduced back to nothing. Troye had heard of the expression "15 minutes of fame," but he hadn't expected his run to be finished in just one day.

"Whoa, don't look so sad. This is good news," the boy said. "You're have 20,000 subscribers. Shit, that's a lot."

"What?!" Troye's heart rocketed back up into his chest so fast that he thought it might burst. "That's impossible… it was at 10,000 this morning."

"Well it's twice that now," the boy said. "I didn't know you were so popular." He licked his lips.

Troye couldn't contain his smile. Sure, he was talking to a physical manifestation of an imaginary projection of a boy who Troye had witnessed in an attempted suicide the night before. But, his subscriber count had doubled in only a few hours, which, to Troye, made everything seem okay.

"Well, you're right," Troye said. "You knew something that I didn't. Now give me back my laptop." He still wasn't convinced, but he definitely wanted his computer back in his own real hands.

"Not so fast punk. Let me ask you a few more questions," the boy said. Troye regained control of his computer only after incorrectly guessing the price of Apple's stock, the temperature in Tokyo, Wiz Khalifa and Mac Miller's real names, and the number of seasons in the TV show Entourage.

The boy sat back down on Troye's bed, satisfied. "See? I must be real if I could know things that you don't," he said.

Troye, sitting at his computer, simply shook his head, smiling. "Well, for all I know I was just sitting here the whole time looking up facts and then imagining that I was asking them to myself."

The boy groaned. "Do you really believe that?"

"No," Troye said. "But is it really less believable than you being a ghost or something?"

"I don't know. You tell me," the boy said. "I don't know what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking that maybe we should find out your identity," Troye said. "Sound good?" Troye's was elated because of his success. He decided that if he could amass such a large amount of followers in such a short time, then surely he could get to the bottom of this haunting ailment of his.

The boy smiled. "Yeah, find out who I am. Because if I'm not you, then who the hell am I?"


	8. Chapter 8: (Ping-Pong) Balls Deep

Chapter 8

Friday came quickly. The day of the party was only two days after Troye had received the invitation from Sarah, and the Earth brought Troye steadily towards his destination. Troye and the boy didn't sit idly by, though. Troye took to the internet, researching mental illness with the fervency of an acute schizophrenic who had discovered his destiny to save the world from the robot inevitable robotic onslaught. He discovered that hallucinatory voices in America tended to be hostile. The boy pulled pranks on random people in Troye's school, but Troye didn't deem him to be exceptionally violent. Troye also found that the type of hallucination he may have been experiencing was classified as a Complex Visual Hallucination. These hallucinations were characterized by seeing animals, humans, or scenes when they didn't actually exist. When patients recounted their hallucinations, they described the people or animals they saw as being very bright, ringed with light, and dramatic. The boy wasn't very bright, at least not in the literal sense, although Troye had to admit (chuckling to himself) that his practical jokes were quite clever.

The boy's most complex prank involved the loosening of every screw in Mrs. Hardwell's math class. The screws were left in place so that everything would seem normal, but every piece of furniture fell to pieces at the slightest touch. The genius here was that Mrs. Hardwell kept her door locked until the start of her first class, and no one could sit down until reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. After the decree of "God Bless America," 20 freshmen found themselves on the ground covered with pieces of their desks and chairs. Although Troye concluded that this was definitely dramatic, it decreased his belief that he was truly hallucinating. First of all, there was no way that Troye could have gotten into Mrs. Harwell's room without being invisible. Second, he wouldn't have had the time to do all of that by himself.

These pranks did create a fear that Troye was beginning to black out and not remember what he was doing. He made it a habit to send frequent and periodic Snapchats to his friends so that there wouldn't be an extended period of time where his location wasn't documented. He also kept his phone with him at all times, and checked his routes using his navigator. His phone hadn't traveled to the school last night, which means Troye probably didn't go either. The only problem was that, once in school, Troye couldn't tell if he was blacking out, skipping class, and causing mayhem in other rooms. However, a detailed set of handwritten notes from each class solved that dilemma. So, if Troye wasn't the cause of these pranks, then it could be logical to assume that the boy was actually the mastermind behind them. Or—and Troye highly suspected that this was the case—some other prankster was on the rise, and Troye's subconscious was simply taking responsibility. While it was still frightening that Troye was losing touch with reality, it was reassuring that he probably wasn't out of control of his actions.

Although it was irrational, there was still the possibility that the boy wasn't a hallucination. As much as Troye fought himself from believing it, there was a chance that what Troye was seeing was real: there was a boy who had tried to kill himself, may or may not have survived, and was now accompanying Troye on his day-to-day activities because Troye was the only one that could see or hear him. Troye kept trying to push the idea away, but it was still possible, although highly unlikely. The problem was that there was no logical cause to this scenario. Unless…

"So, Blessing, what else do you know about that ritual that you had me read?"

The boys were back in the cafeteria. Troye, Blessing, and Connor had just sat down at the beginning of the period. The respective laptops were already open in front of them. Joining them was their "friend" Harry Schiest. Schiest's name was infamous throughout the Hillel School where the boys attended class. "Shiest" had effectively replaced the word "Fuck" as an expletive. It had also replaced the word "Creep" and "Shit" in their adjectival forms, essentially becoming the Hillel term for "Sketchy." "Greasy" could also apply, but no one used it except to explain the expression that was continuously plastered on Schiest's face. He was too disconnected with reality to understand that this was a bad thing, and he often used the phrase with a demented pride.

"Well, it's apparently been around since the Mayans and the Aztecs, like I said a few days ago… But hey! I didn't _have_ you read it or anything. I just showed it to you and you read it on your own volition," Blessing defensively said.

"Good word," Connor said.

"You know what I mean, Bless," Troye said. "What else do you know about it? I haven't been able to find that thread you were talking about. Actually, I haven't been able to find anything at all." On top of his schizophrenia research, Troye had attempted to find information on the ritual. His efforts proved to be fruitless.

"The thread was deleted off of 4chan the day after I showed it to you," Blessing said. "So we can't use any information from it. I wish it was archived… But anyway, the weird thing is that there doesn't seem to be any more information about it anywhere online. I tried looking it up, but there are no traces of it anywhere. The only thing that I could find was the name "Mephistopheles," which comes from… wait lemme look it up again." Blessing fiddled with his laptop for a minute. Connor chewed his sandwich thoughtfully, gazing at Troye out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay, here it is," Blessing said. "Mephistopheles comes from-"

"Hey did you guys see Rebecca today? Her ass is looking FIRE!" Schiest spoke up for, remarkably, the first time that day. Apparently, Schiest could only communicate in a very specific way, which Troye, Connor, and Blessing had already mapped out with surprising scientific efficiency:

1: Someone has to already be speaking.

2: The topic that Schiest brings up will be in no way even remotely related to the prevalent surrounding conversation.

3: Schiest will almost always start off by asking a question.

4: Schiest will add his own little Schiesty answer to his question.

Connor choked on his sandwich. As the only recognized straight person at the table, other than Shiest, the question was almost assuredly addressed to him.

"No, I didn't see her today," Blessing said, clearly forgetting the last rule:

5: Schiest does not require acknowledgement. If he doesn't receive a response, he will simply laugh to himself, smile, and then presumably take the next ten minutes to think of another stupid question.

"Besides," Blessing continued, "That's not how you use that term."

"What term?" Shiest asked. He laughed and smiled. When Schiest smiled, you couldn't tell if he was happy or angry. He laugh lines tried to dig up into his nostrils, as if he had just smelled his own rancid breath waft up into his nose.

"'Fire,'" Blessing said. "You said it "looked Fire." Things cannot _appear_ Fire. They can _be_ fire, like 'Hey, this food is fire.' But they cannot _seem _fire."

Shiest laughed his Shiesty laugh that was close to being a snort, but not quite. He looked back down at his computer. The boys didn't know why they hung out with Schiest. They came to the conclusion that they didn't really hang out with him, so much as he hung out with them. While none of the boys would admit it, no one in the school liked Schiest. None of the four of them were popular, but in TCB's cases, they were shy and antisocial, and would rather sit at home on their laptops all day. They all had good personalities, but they never put themselves out there. Shiest, on the other hand, pushed his own personality on everyone else like a morbidly obese person might spray McDonald's diarrhea on his unsuspecting care person who was a pretty, petite (yet busty) babe who had just got out of med school and immediately considered styling hair for a living. The boys were simply too kindhearted to confront him and kick him out of their group.

"So there's nothing?" Troye asked.

"Nope," Blessing said, clearly seething. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh no reason," Troye said. "I guess I just wanted to find out the validity behind it."

Blessing laughed. "Well, it couldn't have worked. One of the stipulations was that if you read it, you would die if you didn't kill someone. And you're still here, right?"

"Unless you really did kill someone," Connor said. He and Blessing laughed. Troye smiled.

"You know I could never do that," Troye said. "Look at me." he held out a thin arm for Connor. Connor squeezed it, and Troye could have sworn that he also felt a hint of a caress. Troye dismissed that thought, though. Connor was straight. Also, Connor had a strict sense of personal space, and had never even come close to acting overtly sexual to anyone. Troye wondered what had prompted him to touch his arm.

Connor also wondered what had come over him. He had wanted to touch Troye for so long. Actually, he had just always wanted to touch Troye, 24/7. He never had the guts to do it until now, though.

The boy sat down at an empty seat. No one looked at him except for Troye, who quickly remembered that he shouldn't be able to see him.

"Guess where I've been?" the boy asked. He was beaming. Troye didn't answer vocally, but instead gave the boy a slight nod. The other boys were engrossed with whatever was on their screens at the time, and they didn't notice. Blessing was on the fan page for Zac Efron. Connor wore a dreamy expression while browsing Troye's Facebook page. Schiest was shifting through Pornhub thumbnails.

"I just filled up Bob's car with ping pong balls," the boy said. Troye stifled a laugh. "Like all the way to the brim. It's gonna be awesome when he has to drive hom." The boy looked around at the other three. He took a swig from a bottle of hot sauce. Troye grimaced in disgust. "What? Oh the hot sauce?" The boy took another gulp. The bottle read "Texas Pete Exxxtra Hot" with a picture of an exploding thermometer on the side. "I got it at the store when I picked up the Ping-Pong balls. It's seriously the only thing that I can taste right now. And this still seems pretty mild. It's weird, because before I hated spicy things."

Troye turned back to his computer. He pulled up Tyler Oakley's Tumblr page. Tyler smiled back at him with the corner of his mouth. His blue hair was styled up into a wave. His black glasses seemed to frame his face. Troye felt himself drooling. He had never seen such a beautiful selfie before. Tyler always posted selfies, but Troye figured that this one was the most attractive. Troye saved the picture on his computer. He already had a folder with a few other pictures of Tyler. Troye had taken these pictures for granted for a while now, but they suddenly seemed so important to him. Even the fuzziest, worst quality photo of Tyler seemed to jump off the screen at him. Troye imagined himself in Tyler's apartment that was featured in all of his vlogs. The purple cardboard deer head that was mounted on the wall was behind Troye as he sat on Tyler's couch. He imagined Tyler fixing them each cup of tea, then sitting next to Troye. Tyler put his hand on Troye's thigh. Troye inhaled with a sudden passion, both in the fantasy and in real life. Tyler leaned in for a kiss. Troye pretended to back away. Tyler was 21, and Troye was only 18, and Troye was always the innocent, inexperienced one in his fantasies. Tyler persisted, though, and eventually Troye stopped his façade of resistance and accepted the kiss. Tyler reached around the back of Troye's head, simultaneously pulling Troye closer and running his fingers through Troye's thick hair. Troye was pursing his lips in real life when he was broken from his reverie by a loud outburst on the opposite side of the table.

"HAHAHAHA! THIS KID IS WATCHING PORN!" The boy's face was open in pure glee, and he was rocking back and forth in his chair. Troye blushed when he discovered the roll of quarters that had appeared in his lap under the table.

The boy slapped Schiest on the back. Schiest didn't seem to notice, but he his face was now considerably closer to the screen.

"I like you, kid," the boy said. "You got spunk. And by that, I mean you're a fucking freak, and it's entertaining to watch." He chuckled, but got over himself. "Actually, with what you're watching, you probably _do_ have some spunk right now."

"You're school is weird, Troye," The boy said. "Actually, but it was kind of the same thing in the store." He shuddered. "I didn't need to know the intricacies of senior citizen's sexual patterns in grocery stores. Maybe the elderly all have this unwritten code where they just wait till the middle of the day when all of their children and grandkids are at school or work…" He turned back to Troye. "But everyone in here is horny as fuck. Seriously. You should have seen the amount of people making out in the bathrooms and the hallways when I was walking around. Everyone's got their tongue's down each other's throats. Also, I'm pretty sure that Chemistry teacher is banging at least 3 chicks in his class." The boy got up from his chair and rounded the table. "That kid is watching porn," he said, pointing to Shiest, "This kid is looking at hot guys," he said when he passed behind Blessing. He walked behind Connor, saying, "This guy is looking at… Oh!" He glanced at Troye. "What a surprise…" The boy stroked his chin. Troye shot him a quizzical look. Just then, though, Sarah Thatcher walked by the table.

"Oh, and you should have seen _this _girl in action!" The boy said happily. "I don't know why no one can see me, but let me tell you it's been a blessing, 'cus I got to see this girl's-"

Sarah's greeting disrupted the boy right before he was going to something that might have been 'heinous.' "You're still coming over before the party, right?"

Troye closed out of Tyler's Tumblr and said "Yeah, thanks again for asking me, Sarah. Um, I was just wondering-"

"Any of you guys ever jerked off with a banana peel? Shit is so cash."

Sarah showed the slightest hint of disgust: one of her nostrils flared and an eyebrow pricked up. Blessing was a lot less conservative with his emotions. Connor looked at Schiest in pure disbelief. Troye blushed. Hot sauce erupted from the boy's nasal passages.

"Well, just text me, okay?" Sarah walked briskly away.

Schiest laughed and flashed his disgusting, greasy, Shiesty smile.

"What a fucking nut," the boy said. "He's coming to this party, right? Kid looks like an animal." He took another gulp of Texas Pete's Exxxtra Hot.


	9. Chapter 9: TOFTB

Chapter 9

Troye couldn't find any more information on the boy than he could find on the ancient ritual that he had incanted 3 days before. The boy didn't seem too interested in his identity, anyway. He was content with his new freedom that was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Of course, the boy still didn't have any recollection of what it was like to be bound by the normal laws of physics, but he could only imagine that such a normal life could only pale in comparison to the life that he was now living. He wouldn't trade anything to live like normal people do; he was having too much fun. The power to do whatever you wanted with no consequences was intoxicating as well as liberating.

Troye would have been more concerned about the boy's presence if it brought bad omens along like a demon. Instead, Troye regarded the boy as more of a guardian angel. On Wednesday, two days before, Troye had amassed 20,000 subscribers. At a rate of around 20,000 per day, Troye's YouTube channel had climbed up to 60,000 subscribers. If the wraith really was a product of an ancient ritual, brought about by accident, Troye at least was reaping the rewards. He decided that, with all of the other crazy things that were going on, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to believe in a religious sacrifice that could grant the wish of the one who invoked its provider's blessing. Even though the ritual's most prominent users had utilized the rite for a good harvest or a successful war, Troye felt that, after years of presumable neglect, Mephistopheles would pander to a young boy who just wanted to be famous. The results spoke for themselves.

Although the boy remained nameless, "Troye Sivan" could be heard all throughout the halls of the Hillel School. Boys and girls both whispered and shouted his name, and his new fans came up to him to pat him on the back and ask him when his next video was going to come out. A few guys told him that he should tweet more. A group of girls said that they wanted to see more of his selfies. He put his phone numbers in dozens of phones, and soon received dozens more text messages asking to hang out, or eat lunch, or if he were going to Marissa's party tonight. Troye was exhausted after an entire school day of talking to people that he had never even seen before. Luckily, he had the boy to politely answer his phone for him, in between gulps of hot sauce.

Troye, Connor, Blessing, and the boy had gotten ready in Connor's room, shortly before Troye left his friends to go to Sarah's room. Connor had been wearing a white button down with khakis. Blessing had worn a purple cardigan was deciding whether to wear a purple or black head wrap. Troye wore a gray and black crewneck sweatshirt that was a size too big, with "Portland" emblazoned on the front and "55" under it. He was now sitting on Sarah's bed in black skinny jeans and platform converse shoes that turned him from 5'8" to 5'10". His hair was styled (by Blessing) into a swooping quiff. The boy stood unseen, wearing his grey thermal, and white button up underneath it, neither of which seemed to get dirty no matter how much hot sauce he spilled on them. He was holding back his laughter as Sarah was speaking.

"And so Bob freaked out when he found his car like that," she explained. "I've never seen him so angry. It took us 15 minutes to drain the balls from the car, and then we ended up just leaving them in the parking lot. So he might be a little on edge tonight," Sarah said. "But then, he's always got a short fuse."

"Then why the fuck are you dating the jerk?" The boy had learned very quickly that he could speak freely now that only one person could hear him.

"If you don't mind me asking, why do you date him if he gets angry all of the time?" Troye said.

Sarah sighed, and she compared two different tops. She had already decided on black yoga pants, but she needed a top to go with it. Her two final options were loose gray crop top and a red shawl. She wore a tight white tank top while she was making her decision. It was weird seeing Sarah Thatcher getting ready like a normal person. Troye had always assumed that she joke woke up, flawless, and just rolled out of bed in perfectly ironed sun dresses. "So what do you think, Troye? Gray or red?" Apparently she didn't hear him. There was a bottle of vodka on the table next to her. Sarah had already taken a couple of shots. When Troye had asked why she was drinking before the party, Sarah asked if he had ever heard of a pregame. Troye had not. He had also refused to take a pure shot of alcohol. Since it would be his first time drinking, Sarah suggested that he wait for the jungle juice (vodka prepared with water, powdered Kool-Aid mix, and a complementary soda) that would be at the party.

Troye shrugged. "I like the red, I think. I don't really know that much about girl's fashion, though. I am a boy, you know."

"Right, but aren't all gay guys supposed to be really hip and fashionable?" Sarah pouted.

"Well, I think that's more like a stereotype," Troye said. The boy laughed.

"You know, Troye, I never thought that you were gay before the word got around," Sarah said, "and even then I didn't believe it."

"Believe it." Troye flashed an apologetic smile.

"But you don't have that gay lisp, or any earrings, or dyed hair or anything. I don't see you wearing rainbows or scarfs. You dress up in tee shirts, tank tops, and jeans," Sarah said. "You dress like a fashionable straight guy."

Troye shrugged again. "That's the look I'm going for, I guess," Troye said. He pictured Tyler Oakley, with his neon hair and the obvious camp in his voice. Troye thought that Tyler was the sexiest boy alive, but he never thought to dress like him. Troye like to dress more subtly. That had always been his style, and he didn't want "coming out of the closest" to change who he really was deep down. He told Sarah all of this.

"But, anyway," Troye continued, "Why do you still date Bob if you don't like him?"

"I never said I didn't like him," Sarah said. She took a swig from the bottle, then chased it with Gatorade. She looked serene when she drank alcohol. She didn't frown or scrunch up her face at the taste. Sarah downed the drink like water. "I just said he has a short fuse. And that's only when it comes to other people. He never gets mad at me." Sarah dabbed a droplet of Gatorade from her full, pink lips. "Plus, he has a cock like nothing I've ever seen." Troye gulped. Sarah laughed as she hung the gray crop top back in her closet and held the red shawl to her chest. She put her other hand on her hip shot Troye a look. "Why do you keep asking all these questions about Bob?" The boy looked back and forth between Troye and Sarah. He rubbed his hands together.

"I'm just making conversation," Troye said. He wondered how someone so angelic could end up with a brute like Bob. The two made a real Beauty and the Beast type pairing.

"You know," Sarah said, laying the shawl out over the bed, "Bob was a little nervous about you coming over. He thinks that I asked you over here to fuck." She licked her lips.

Troye blushed. "He said the same thing to me. But I told him that I was gay, so there was nothing to worry about."

Sarah pouted again. "Is there nothing to worry about?" Troye looked at her blankly. "I mean, you are super cute, so I guess I could believe that you were gay," she said, "but I don't think you could be fully gay. I mean, you just don't act like a gay person."

"I really am gay," Troye said. "Uh, let's see. I'm on Tumblr all of the time, I love to sing, and I would walk barefoot for a thousand miles just to tie Tyler Oakley's shoes."

"Hmmm," Sarah said. "I don't know…"

"Well how can I prove it?" Troye asked. He expected her to ask for his phone, so she could see the shirtless pictures of Zac Efron that he had saved. Instead, Sarah crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of tank top at the waist, and pulled it inside out over her head. Sarah's perky breasts bounced out of her top. Troye stared slightly openmouthed at her small pink nipples. She had a bikini top tan line, so her breasts were slightly paler than the rest of her torso. She put her hands on her hips and looked at Troye. The unseen boy almost did a back flip.

"So you don't like this?" Summer inhaled into her chest, making her already full breasts appear larger. Troye was blushing like crazy and just shook his hand 'no' while averting his eyes. "You don't want to feel them, then?" The boy floated towards her with his tongue out.

"I can touch these puppies if you don't want to, Troye." The boy grabbed on to Sarah's breasts. She didn't notice. Troye hopped up off of the bed in alarm.

"Oh, so you do want to play," Sarah said. She ran her tongue over her teeth. "Grab on." She took Troye's hands and placed them on her breasts, so that his palms covered her nipples.

Troye appeared neutral. He gave Sarah's supple breasts a slight squeeze. Troye realized that he could have been aroused at that point, but the female anatomy just didn't make him excited. He had always recognized Sarah as the most attractive girl in school, but there is a difference between understanding that someone looks good and actually having a crush on them. There was absolutely no question in Troye's mind about his sexuality, though. Sarah Thatcher had the type of body that ancient wars could have been fought over, but she couldn't get Troye to even lift his sword. Troye held Sarah's breasts for a few moments before dropping his hands to his sides.

"Yup, I'm totally gay," he said. Sarah frowned. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed Troye's package. Troye yelped softly, but was too surprised to back away.

"Yup, you're totally gay," Sarah said, frowning, when she found that Troye was soft. She turned away and pulled on a black tank top. The boy went down to his knees in mock anguish. "Look I'm really sorry. I swear that I'm never like this." She slurred her words in only the slightest sense. "But hey, at least I know now. I thought that maybe I could turn you straight."

Troye had never in a million years imagined Sarah Thatcher revealing herself and touching him in that way. He had always pictured her as the pinnacle of innocence, as a pure Virgin Mary. Just knowing that Sarah was sexually active kind of ruined his image of her.

"Uh, so if I were straight… would you really want to, you know, do it with me?" Troye asked nervously.

"Well, yeah. You're so cute. You're like the opposite of all of the other guys that I've been with. They're all macho and meatheaded… they're animals is what I mean. And they're dogs that just want to fuck my brains out," Sarah said. The boy 'woofed' from the ground. "You're more like a puppy. I just want to cuddle all night with you."

Troye didn't know whether he should take that as compliment or not. "But you know that we can never be together," Troye said.

"I know," Sarah said. "I know. I don't know what came over me, though. I'm not going to lie, Troye, I've been feeling so horny around you lately. The worst part is that I know our orientations just don't match up. But I'm not used to getting rejected from a guy. Before you, every guy I've wanted has always agreed to do whatever I want. So now that I want you… I'm just not used to unrequited love, is all." She draped her shawl over her tank top. "And I want you so badly that I have a hard time giving you up."

"Okay dude, here's your chance," the boy said. "Tell her that you two can fuck once and get it over with, and if she seriously can't convert you to heterosexuality then you just part ways."

"Sarah, you're the type of girl that makes me wish I was straight," Troye said. "You're perfect. You really are. But you're right. Our orientations just don't spin the same way. So don't take it personally or anything."

"Oh don't worry, I won't take it personally," Sarah said. "I'm just gonna have to take out my aggression on Bob." She giggled. "I'm going to put some makeup on in the bathroom. Do you want to help me?"

Troye shook his head. "Like I said, I don't know anything about girl's fashion, and I know even less about makeup."

"You don't look like you would need it, anyway," Sarah said, and she went into her bathroom and closed the door.

"You fucking pussy," the boy said, playfully punching Troye's arm.

"What? I didn't want to have… sex with her from the start. You know that I'm gay."

"Right, but who could be _that_ gay to not want to bang her?"

"What do you mean _that _gay. You either like girls or you don't. It's like if Tyler Oakley asked a straight guy to have sex, the straight guy would say no, even though Tyler is the most dreamy person to walk the earth."

The boy made a face. "That was the gayest thing I've ever heard anyone say."

Troye shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "What can I say? You've noticed how everyone has been so horny lately. I'm not immune."

"Right, but they all want to fuck you, apparently." The boy thought back to Connor, but didn't say his name. "So how about you go fuck yourself? I would kill to be in your position." He chuckled, not unkindly.

Troye gulped. He wasn't sure if the boy knew about the ritual. Troye certainly hadn't told him, and all traces of it had disappeared online.

"How about you scratch my head, then?" The boy looked down at Troye and smiled broadly, his sharp teeth reflecting light. He pushed the top of his head towards Troye. "Just a little scratch. Come on, I'm dying here." He rubbed his body against Troye

"Hey, stop, what are you doing," Troye objected weakly. He smiled as he playfully pushed the muscular boy away, who just kept rolling away from Troye's hands and falling onto him. Troye finally obliged, making the boy moan.

"Okayyy, who's ready to party?" Sarah emerged from her bathroom looking even more stunning. Her makeup had erased any possible feature that the mainstream media could claim was a flaw. She stopped when she saw Troye waving his hand manically back and forth in the air. Troye looked at her and grinned sheepishly.

"Just getting ready to scratch some records at the DJ booth," Troye said.

"Smooth," the boy laughed.

"Let's get going then," they all said simultaneously. Sarah went and poured herself another shot. The boy filled a shot glass up with hot sauce and clinked it against Sarah's glass. Troye wondered how his first party would go.


	10. Chapter 10: Party Your Balls Off

Chapter 10

Troye didn't speak on the way to Marissa's house. Too many thoughts were running through his mind. The world that he now lived in was too bizarre, too alienated from the one that he grew up in. His fame was one marker of this new life that he lived, and Anon was another. (By the way, the boy had told Troye to call him Anon right before they left Sarah's house. The name seemed fitting. Short for "Anonymous," the name served a couple purposes. First, neither the boy nor Troye new of the boy's real name. Second, the ritual that Troye incanted came from 4chan, a website where there were no usernames and no personalities: the site valued anonymity above all else [the only other value 4chan possessed was valuelessness]. People on 4chan referred to themselves and their "fellow" users as "anon." The boy liked the name, and Troye did as well. They both thought that it kind of sounded like a superhero's pseudonym.)

Troye felt defeated that he could not discover any information on Anon's identity. He had the entire Internet, all of the information of the world; one massive encyclopedia encapsulating the entirety of human knowledge, and Anon was nowhere to be found on it. Troye was unsettled by the fact that Anon, the real, living boy, was missing from the world's database. The ritual missing from the Internet, too. Both of these pieces of absent information made Troye believe that he was hallucinating again.

"Oh, come off it," Anon told Troye, using some Australian slang. "Just enjoy yourself. You're going to your first high school party of all time. These things are legendary for their debauchery, aren't they?"

Troye wasn't as excited as he thought he should be. He knew nothing of parties except for what he saw in movies. And from what little knowledge of parties he possessed, this night would be a horrific disaster. Troye had watched _Superbad _a couple of times, and he felt like Michael Cera's character at that moment. Awkward and quiet, Troye imagined himself getting thrown up on or getting arrested. And that was just the way _high school_ parties were portrayed in movies. There were other party scenes that were much more terrifying than getting jostled around by drunk jocks. As a child, Troye had seen portrayals of night clubs in movies. They scared the living shit out of him. Bright, flashing lights; people dressed in tight, freaky outfits; loud noises and frightening crowds. Troye feared those scenes as a kid, when he saw them in the rated-R sci-fi films that he probably wasn't supposed to watch. Troye was actually very afraid of what he was about to walk in to, and he had the sinking feeling that he was literally going to die at this party amid the bright lights and loud sounds, where his screams would be drowned out by the music.

Anon was less than phased. He jounced along on the sidewalk behind Sarah, admiring her ass. The house was only a few blocks away, so they had chosen to walk. Troye barely said a word the whole way. Anon didn't shut the fuck up. Sarah twittered on about who would be at the party, and what they would drink, and how much fun it would be.

They finally arrived. The houses on the street were far apart enough that the party would go undisturbed by the neighbors. Sarah flitted up the front steps to the porch, almost tripping on the way up. Anon reached out to grab her before he realized that she wouldn't even feel him. It wouldn't have mattered, though: she was already too drunk to notice a phantom touching her side. She greeted three boys that were standing out front, smoking cigarettes. Troye wondered where Connor and Blessing were. Sarah met her friends loudly and warmly. Troye didn't know two of the boys that were on the porch, but he knew the third one all too well.

Well, at least in his head.

Owen Parsons had medium length blonde hair that would naturally wave on its own. He was a little shorter than Troye, but he was just as cute. '_Cuter'_, Troye thought. Troye had had a crush on Owen since the first day that he had realized that he (Owen) existed. Troye had seen him at school a few times, but was too shy to ask for his name. He only learned it in happenstance when he saw Owen on Facebook. Troye built up a fantasy relationship with Owen in his mind, but he knew that the two of them didn't really date or anything. When Troye and Owen passed each other in the hallways, they often looked into each other's eyes but never acknowledged one another further. Troye didn't think that Owen knew his name, and he was too shy to introduce himself.

"But you know Troye already, right?" Sarah motioned behind her. Troye's eyes got wide when he heard his name mentioned in Owen's presence.

"Of _course _I know Troye!" Owen exhaled cigarette smoke when he answered Sarah. He broke into a wide grin and put his hand around Troye's shoulder. Troye felt his eyes widen even further, and he almost recoiled at the touch, but Owen didn't mean any harm. Troye let the arm loiter. "You're gay, right?" Owen asked.

Troye was taken aback at Owen's upfrontness. Troye had never straight up asked a gay person if they were gay before. He was too shy, first of all, and he wasn't incorporated into the "gay world" enough that he could comfortably throw his sexuality around with people that he was physically attracted to who might also be attracted to him. With straight people, they could just ask "Do you wanna make out?" but gay people need to find out which team their prospective partner is playing for first.

"Uh, yeah," Troye said.

"Oh good, same," Owen said. Troye could smell the vodka on Owen's breath, underneath the cigarette smoke. _That_ explained the straightforwardness. "Do you want a drag?" Owen's cigarette hovered in front of Troye's mouth.

Troye harbored a distinct distaste for cigarettes. A long time ago, cigarettes were considered cool, but those days were long gone. Now, most high school kids thought that cigarettes were scummy, and the people that smoked them were unattractive. But Troye's perception instantly changed when he saw Owen smoking. The boy was so cute behind that cigarette, and Troye had had a crush on Owen for so long…

Troye didn't know why he accepted the cigarette. Maybe it was the fact that Owen was talking to him for the first time. Maybe it was the adrenaline from Troye's first party or from all of the attention that he was receiving online and in person. Maybe it was because Anon was lurking behind them all on the porch, unseen, checking out both Sarah and the boys that she was talking to. Whatever the reason, Troye parted his lips and let Owen slide the cigarette between them. Troye sucked in his cheeks as he inhaled the smoke.

AHEHEHECHU-CHUEHAA

Troye coughed violently and swatted the cigarette from his mouth, burning the tip of his finger in the process.

"OW," Troye said, shaking his hand wildly in the air as if he were drying it off. "That was hot." Smoke was still coming out of his mouth, and Troye had a sullen look on his face. Head down, Troye slowly raised his doe eyes towards Owen's face

"I'll say so." Owen was swooning. He looked at Troye through slightly droopy eyes, but his smile made Troye's knees go weak. "Let's go inside," Owen said. He took Troye lightly by the hand. "You don't mind if I kidnap your friend, do you Sarah?"

Sarah laughed. She had gotten her hands on a cigarette from one of the boys, who had gotten his hand on Sarah's butt. "I don't mind, Owen. Take care of him." She slapped Owen a low-five. "But, Owen, don't keep him from me too long. Troye and I need to get to know each other, right Troye?" She exhaled as she met Troye's eyes.

Troye gulped and nodded. He was suddenly afraid of his situation, even though it should have been perfect. Hanging out with Owen and Sarah at the same time had been a secret dream of his. Troye hoped that he wouldn't screw it up. He eyed Anon warily.

"Okay, then let's go Troye boy," Owen said, as he knocked on the front door. A few seconds later, the sound of a latch opening could be heard from inside, and then a girl's face appeared. It was Marissa, the daughter of the homeowners.

"Hey, Owen, you have a friend with you? Did he pay five?" She poked her head out of the door and looked at the people on her porch. Loud dance music spilled out of the house from behind her. "Hey, Sarah, I'm going to need five dollars from you for the alcohol." Sarah waved her off.

"I've already paid you," Owen said. "And I've got Troye with me… he doesn't need to pay, does he?" Owen smiled prettily. Troye smiled, too, but he was confused.

"Oh my god," Marissa exclaimed. "Troye Sivan is here?" She stepped out and embraced him in a hug. "Sorry, my eyes were still adjusting to the dark and I didn't see your face. Oh, you don't have to pay, Troye. Come in." She pushed the two of them inside, saying, "I just loved your video from the other night. 'How to be Forever Alone?' It was so funny. But you don't really feel that way, do you?"

Troye shrugged as he stepped into the house. "I spend a lot of time online, so I guess I'm alone a lot," Troye said. "It was a comedy video, though, so it's like really embellished and stuff."

Marissa stared at him blankly, though she was still smiling. "Embellished?"

"Yeah, like, I use a lot of hyperbole in my videos and stuff. A lot of people on YouTube exaggerate their lives."

Marissa didn't know what the word 'hyperbole' meant either, but using her context clues, she figured that it meant 'funny.' "Well, it was…comedic," she laughed, "If that's what you meant." The point, although missed, still got a reaction that Troye could work with.

Anon pushed his way past the three of them. "Come on, Troye. This is taking way to long to get to the good part. Stop building it up and just start partying." He tipped his hot sauce bottoms up, saw that there was none left, and threw the bottle out into the street. It shattered. No one noticed.

"Come on, Troye, let's get you a drink," Owen said. They made their way through the living room. Techno music blared from the massive television. The bass thumped against Troye's ears and the dizzying chords bounced off the walls.

"GAH, this music is destroying my eardrums," Anon said. He clenched his jaw and pressed his palms against his ears in agony. Troye thought he was overreacting. "I'm going to go turn it down," Anon said. He proceeded towards the TV and the iPod that was presumably connected to it. Owen and Troye continued to weave through the throngs of boys and girls.

Marissa's house was packed with people from their high school. Almost everyone in their grade was there, but Troye didn't see Connor or Blessing anywhere yet. He also didn't see Schiest, which was definitely a good thing. But there were other people everywhere, playing beer pong in the living room, crowding around a keg in the kitchen, and conversing in the hallways. There were girls dancing on the countertop, and there were couples walking up and down the stairs to and from the bedrooms.

The thing about parties is, they take place in a whole different universe, inhabited with its own species of symbiotic lifeform. After a couple of hours, when everyone is responsibly drunk, the conventions of normal society and pleasantry evaporate and anarchy forms from the absence of rules. It sounds scary, but this lawlessness is the main appeal of parties. Drunk people can do whatever they want to do: they can make out with someone who they've just met for the first time. They can sing their favorite song at the top of their lungs, even if their voice sounds like a garbage disposal. They can smash bottles and take their shirts off and basically 'act a fool,' because there is a double edge to alcohol. When taken in responsible doses, no one cares about what they do themselves, and no one minds what anyone else does, either. (This is a general statement, of course, since alcohol is a mood amplifier and not a mood enhancer. If you're sad sober you'll probably be bawling while drunk.) But this carefree utopia of parties comes from one substance: alcohol. Now, many people will say that 'Drunk words are sober thoughts,' and 'Drunk you is the real you,' but I only agree with the former and vehemently dispel the latter. When you're responsibly intoxicated, you aren't the real you. Heck, you cease to be yourself at all. You become the Drunk. When a person consumes enough alcohol, that person becomes their own subtle variation of Drunk. The Drunk is a singular personality that can inhabit many people's bodies. He is happy and stupid and carefree. He is quick to laugh, quick to fight, and quick to fuck. But when one person is transformed into the Drunk, he or she will seek out and form close bonds with others who are manifestations of the Drunk. Thus, when a party forms and many people metamorphose into the Drunk, they all come together to bask in each other's drunken light, which appears much brighter to the Drunks. In such an environment, cares are thrown into the wind and the Drunks ride triumphantly (if not a little wobbly) into the sunset of bliss.

When Troye and Owen got to the kitchen, Troye saw a boy's legs being held in the air by two other boys while had gripped the top of the keg with the tap in his mouth.

"FIFTEEN, SIXTEEN, SEVENTEEN, EIGHTEEN, NINETEEN, TWENTY!" The boy's friends were counting very loudly before the boy's knees buckled and he spit out the tap. When he was upright, he threw his fists into the air in joy.

"You want to do a keg stand?" Owen asked. Troye smiled sheepishly and shook his head no. Owen shrugged and led Troye to the kitchen sink. Inside was a cooler halfway filled with a red liquid. Owen grabbed two red cups and dipped them into the concoction. Owen handed one cup to Troye and happily said, "Cheers!" The boys' plastic cups clicked together, and Troye cautiously took a sip. It tasted like fruit punch. When he lowered his drink, he saw that Owen was almost halfway done.

"What is this?" Troye asked.

"It's jungle juice," Owen said. Troye looked at him blankly.

"I've never heard of that before." Troye thought that it was some kind of soft drink that his mother had never bought.

"It's vodka and Kool-Aid Mix," Owen said. "It tastes really good, right?" Troye nodded. "It also has a ton of alcohol in it." He pressed his cup with Troye's again. "Cheers," he said again. "Finish it this time," Owen told Troye with a wink. The two boys drained their cups and Owen moved to fill them up again.

Troye felt kind of awkward accepting alcohol and tobacco so willingly. He wondered what his parents and grandparents would think. However, Troye's hero (and celebrity crush) Tyler Oakley was very public with his love of drinking, so Troye figured that alcohol couldn't be that bad. Troye looked at Owen again, who reminded Troye a little of Tyler, with his blond hair. Owen was so cute and charming, even if he was a little tipsy. Troye had always thought that drunk people were annoying, but he found that when the drunk person in question is your crush, there's something cute about that person being in a different state of mind. Of course, Troye's judgment was clouded when he began to think that. The one cup of jungle juice had already made Troye tipsy, but the drink tasted so good that he didn't even notice. He chugged the next cup that Owen gave him to the halfway point, then stopped when a girl caught him arm.

"Troye? It's me, Abby," Abby said. Troye knew the girl from "Algebra 2? I usually sit in the back, but you know me, right?"

Troye nodded. Owen was looking at him dreamily. He turned to fill his cups back up, but a couple was leaning over the sink and making out behind them.

"Yeah, well, I just want to say that Jess and I love your videos, and you should come play with us." Jess stood behind Abby. Jess was 5'10'' and was the definition of Blonde Bombshell Babe. Troye didn't have any classes with Jess, but he knew who she was. Jess was infamous around school because she looked like she was 25 even though she was an 18 year old senior. Anon popped his head up from behind her with a large plastic bottle in his hand.

"DAMN! She's a fox, Troye. How about you stop being "Boy Exclusive" and go "play" with these girls," Anon said, inputting proper finger-air-quotes when necessary. He drank deeply from the handle of Vladamir Vodka that he had found in some girl's hands. If the people in the room could see him, they all would have cringed: Vladamir vodka tastes like nail polish remover. It was almost impossible to drink without a mixer or a chaser. '_This stuff is better than that hot sauce_,' Anon thought. _'It's got a stronger kick to it.'_

Troye turned to the girls and put his hands up defensively (almost spilling his drink) and was about to inform them of his sexuality when Jess spoke up.

"Yeah, come play some beer pong with us." Abby and Jess tilted their heads to the side and grinned. Troye flashed a shy smile.

"Of course we'll play with you," Owen said. Abby jumped for joy and Jess gave them a saucy smile. The girls started back to the living room. When Troye hesitated to follow them, Owen pinched his butt to spur him on. Troye yelped audibly, though not loud enough to be heard over the music. Owen unnerved Troye with a coy smile. "Let's go, cutey," Owen said, and he flicked his tongue up and down between his teeth. Troye was startled, since he had never seen a boy do something that femininely sexy before. He stood there like a deer in headlights, until Anon grabbed Troye's nose.

"Honk honk, Troye," Anon said. "Get your ass in the living room. Don't leave these girls waiting. Plus, if you play your cards right, this guy will definitely suck you off." Anon glanced at Owen, who was devouring Troye with his eyes. "Actually, play your cards whatever way you like, this kid wants the D." Troye got the hint and spun towards the other room. The one and a half cups of jungle juice had made him lightheaded. The three of them stumbled through the crowd into the living room. Abby and Jess were waiting on the long side of the table, because a game was in process.

"Nick, let us get a game," Jess said, leaning over the table to expose a healthy serving of cleavage to one of the players. At that moment, the player from the other side splashed a ball into one of Nick's cups. The resulting splash sent a squirt of beer foam onto the tops of her breasts. Nick Calloway, a boy from the Hillel School, removed the ball and took a sip from the cup and drank in Jess with his eyes. When he finished the beer, he regarded Jess with the warmth that only the drink could provide.

"We're in the middle of a game, Jess," he said. "Look, we've got 5 cups left, but they've only got 3. Andrew and I can end this pretty quickly if you want us to." Nick and his pong partner Andrew were both starting lacrosse players for their school. Nick was a midfielder and the leading scorer for the team. Andrew "Stonewall" was the impenetrable goalie. The two were incredible athletes. Nick, the quick and tireless midfielder, was a team player and like to share the ball as well as shoot. He was so talented on the field that he often found himself getting assisted, but he always made a big deal of thanking his teammates for their support. Andrew, the goalie, was slow on his feet but had incredible reflexes that made him invaluable in the net. All of his saves got to his head, though, and he was prideful in the fact that he was getting offers of recruitment from D1 colleges. However, he was too reserved to become boastful. Anyway, these two athletes could end the simple game of pong quickly if they really wanted to.

"But we're going to play Owen and Troye," Abby complained. "They want to play right now." Nick and Andrew snapped their heads in Troye's direction so fast that Troye almost pissed his panys. For a moment, he thought that they were going to attack him. He had seen their prowess on the field and definitely didn't want to get on their bad sides. Troye was infinitely relieved when they smiled at him instead.

"Oh, I didn't know that Troye Sivan was here," Nick said. "Hey, Stones, do you want to let Troye play?" Andrew shrugged 'okay.'

"It's fine, guys, really. We can wait," Troye blurted. "Right Owen?" Troye's escort was in a different world at that point. Anon smacked the back of Owen's head.

"Hey, yeah, let's play!" Owen said, waving his hands in the air. Owen's enthusiasm made the bottom of his shirt jump up, revealing his belly button. Troye blushed. He took a sip from his drink absentmindedly.

Nick grinned. "Sure, anything for you, Troye." Troye wondered why Nick would end a game prematurely just to let him play. Troye had never even spoken to Nick before in his life. "I liked your video, Troye," Nick told him. "I feel like we all get lonely from time to time, so I could relate." Abby and Jess pouted at Nick's compassionate side. He smiled waved at his opponents. "Hey guys, we're going to let Troye and Owen play against Jess and Sarah, okay?" The other boys began to complain, but Andrew and Nick wouldn't be swayed.

Nick gallantly moved aside for Jess and motioned for her to take his spot. "I told you we could end the game for you," he said, grinning. Jess rubbed her hand on his flank for a moment to show her appreciation. Jess wasn't a shallow girl, but if she could choose between the peaks of mental or physical capability, she would pick the athlete most every time.

Owen and Troye took their places at the opposite end of the table. Owen began to set up six red cups into a triangle on the table, with three cups at the edge, two cups before them, and one single up at the point. Abby did the same on the other side. As Owen began to fill the cups with beer, Troye quietly turned to him.

"Um," Troye whispered, "How do you play?"

Owen laughed. "How do you play pong?"

"Yeah," Troye said. "I've never played before, so I don't know the rules. What do you do?"

Owen put a hand on the small of Troye's back. Because of all the alcohol that he had drank, Troye didn't mind the invasion of personal space at all. He even leaned into his partner. "Okay, so we have two balls, okay?" Owen grinned as he slurred his words a little. "And we have to throw our balls into the other people's cups. Okay? And when we do that, okay, then they have to drink out of them. And the first one to run out of cups loses. And they do the same for us. And then we have to drink. Okay? It's fun." Troye understood the simple rules well enough.

"Okay, but how do we decide who goes first?" Troye asked.

"You can just go first, Troye," Jess said, and she rolled the two Ping-Pong balls across the table to Troye and Owen. Owen shrugged. Somehow she had heard him over the music.

"Thanks girl," Owen said. He picked up the balls and swirled them around in his hand provocatively before giving one to Troye.

They shot the balls, and both missed.

"Boo, you guys suck," Anon said. He took a swig of vodka. Although he had already drank half of the bottle, the alcohol didn't affect him in the slightest. Troye, on the other hand, was quite drunk, and Owen made him drink a full cup of beer when Jess drained a ball.

"Oh, shut up, you," Troye said. He swatted Anon's shoulder. "You don't even know me."

"I didn't say anything," the girl behind Anon said.

Troye's smile stretch across his face. "I was talking to my friend. My-The boy… my friend."

"Your boyfriend is behind you," the girl said, rolling her eyes. Troye turned around to face Owen, who looked more attractive than Troye had ever seen. He thought of leaning in for a kiss when Owen handed him a ball.

"How about you make it this time?" Owen said.

"You're one to talk, you didn't make it either," Troye said. A large crowd had gathered around the table. Mostly everyone at the party had dropped what they were doing to watch Troye and Owen play. All of the Drunks jostled one another for a better view of Troye, who was the talk of the party (especially since he was with a date). The Drunks were unabashed in their fascination and openly called Troye's name, wishing him good luck. Everyone's eyes were on the two boys playing pong, and many cameras were pointed their way, too.

"Hey, I love the fact that you're not embarrassed to talk to me in public," Anon said, trying to make himself heard over the swarm of people who were surrounding them, "But you're going to look crazy to all these people. Plus, this crowd is pissing me off. Everyone is bumping into me."

Troye ignored him, or maybe he didn't hear him over the music or the audience. He threw the second beer pong shot of his life, but it rimmed out. "AWWW," the crowd yelled. Troye laughed. Usually, he was terrified of large groups of people looking at him, but his three alcoholic drinks made him more relaxed and comfortable. He drank in the crowd's adoration. Owen sank a cup on the other side, and the crowd cheered. Owen gave Troye a high five.

"Okay, I'm just going to step outside, then," Anon said. Troye watched intently as the Abby lobbed her Ping-Pong ball through the air. Dejected, Anon turned away.


	11. Chapter 11: Basically an Orgy

Chapter 11

Anon put his head down and shouldered his way through the crowd. He didn't care if he pushed people out of the way. It's not like they could see him or anything. When he freed himself from the mass of bodies, Anon turned back towards the table just in time to see Troye make his first shot in beer pong. All of his friends clapped their hands and cheered. A lot of them had their phones out and were taking pictures of Troye and Owen. Many of the couples in the crowd hugged and kissed each other, too. Anon swallowed his jealousy with a gulp of Vlad. Anon had seen enough of Troye and his newfound popularity. He made his way to the front door.

When Anon stepped outside onto the front porch, he saw that he was not alone. A boy and a girl that he had never seen before were sitting on pieces of lawn furniture, smoking cigarettes. The boy was making jokes (successfully) and the girl was giggling. Anon drank from his bottle.

"You know, at first I was happy to be invisible," Anon said. "It seems like the perfect power. I can do whatever I want. I can go wherever I want, whether it's a movie or the girl's locker room. I can take whatever I want from anyone." To prove his point, he took the cigarettes from the two smokers. They didn't notice. Anon put both of the cigarettes in between his ring and middle fingers, and inhaled them. "You guys look cuter without cigs, anyway." Now that they didn't have anything to suck on, the boy and girl started to make out with each other. Anon sighed.

"Well that's just great, leave me here alone," Anon said. "Gah, I hate this. I want to talk to someone other than Troye. Don't get me wrong, the kid is really nice, but I feel like I'm going crazy in solitary confinement. Sure, I can do whatever I want, but now the only thing that I want to do is have things go back to normal." Anon shook his head. "I'm sick of being a ghost. Or a figment of Troye's imagination. Or whatever." He took a drag of his cigarettes. "And I can't tell you two how horny I've been lately. I've already jerked off in every room of Troye's house, and pretty much all over town. It doesn't help that people keep hooking up with each other wherever I go." Anon put the two cigarettes in his mouth, inhaled, then drank from his bottle before exhaling the smoke. "And no matter how many times I bust a nut, I keep getting hornier. And there is no one to quench this thirst… Not even you, Vlad." Anon gazed longingly at the bearded Russian man on his bottle. He finished the liquor inside, and tossed the bottle away.

"I seriously cannot be sated. It's like I lust for something that simply cannot be fucked; something that doesn't exist. Cumming doesn't cure it, drinking doesn't cure it, eating doesn't cure it. Shit, food doesn't even have a taste for me anymore, and now apparently I can't get drunk." Anon trailed off. He absentmindedly picked at his sharp teeth. He had drunk an entire handle of vodka in only a few minutes, yet he was still stone sober. Normally, taking a bottle of vodka to the face would kill a man larger than Anon. He could still hear conversations from inside the house, too. A lot of people were saying Troye's name. Anon was starting to resent Troye. The boy had the perfect life. Troye had good friends and a good family. He was also very good looking. And now, he was receiving all of the attention in the world. His Youtube, Twitter, and Instagram accounts all had tens of thousands of followers. Troye could send out a tweet and get thousands of favorites. Anon couldn't even communicate with the people sitting next to him. Troye's video from the night before had already amassed a view count of 25,000, and many of them commented on how cute Troye looked or how funny he was, no one mentioned how Anon was doing flips on the bed in background.

"So this is the afterlife, huh? Full of anxiety and insatiable horniness." Anon laughed aloud. "I used to think that being insatiable would be a good thing… How wrong was I." At the sound of a moan, Anon turned back towards his porch-companions, who were now engaged in porch-coitus. The boy sat in his chair with his pants around his ankles, and the girl was bouncing up and down in his lap. The slaps and slurps that they made rang in Anon's ears. He felt like he was getting punched in the gut.

"Ugh, were you two even listening to me?" Anon turned away and sat down on the steps that led up to the porch. He felt his eyes welling up. He almost went back inside the house to see what Troye was doing. _Probably already making out with that cute boy_. Anon shook the thought out of his head. Maybe the alcohol did make him drunk after all. Anon hadn't been emotional since he could remember, and he never dreamed that he would start to have feelings for that kid. He sighed."Ah, whatever. Good for you kids. But where am I gonna get some pussy?"

"Over here, over here! Elliot!" A dark form sniffed the air, whining loudly. "Ohhh, I can smell him. I can smell him!" Rac spoke with a nasally voice, and he tended to snivel when he got worked up.

"Calm down," Elliot said. "Don't get too excited. You're going to need to concentrate on this kid."

Rac rubbed his paws together. "I can't wait any longer. Ohhhh," he whined. "He's so close. I can almost feel him in my grasp."

The two of them stalked down the street as quietly as they could towards Marissa's house. For Rac, keeping quiet wasn't a problem. Although he was big and bulging with muscle, Rac was quick and light on his feet. Elliot, on the other hand, was clumsy, and the shopping cart that he pushed was jingling and clanking over every seam in the sidewalk. Shoes, flowerpots, and garden gnomes from the neighborhood piled on top of boxes of electronics with the security tags still attached. Elliot also had a backpack weighing him down, stuffed with pilfered watches and jewelry that Rac had taken off of various people over the past few weeks. Rac had a knack for theft. He could walk right up to someone and take the clothes off of their back without his victim even noticing, which was strange because Rac's appearance should have made him stick out like a Spiderman impersonator walking around Goldman Sachs. Rac was covered in a thick coat of silver hair, but his eyes were dark and baggy. He towered over Elliot, who was about average height.

Although the cart and backpack slowed them down, both Rac and Elliot regarded their haul as vitally important.

"Our intel said that this kid is unpredictable. We don't know how strong he'll be," Elliot told his companion. He stopped next to a trashcan to dig through it.

Rac sneered. "Our intel also said that the kid probably hasn't had a single heart yet. He's a weakling. Ohhh, I'm going to eat him in one bite!" Rac picked at his cuticles with his razor sharp fingernails.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. Like I said, we have almost no intel on this guy. All we know for sure is that he's a Lust. Do you forget that he's going to be a tough matchup?" Elliot checked one of the three ornate watches on his arm. "Hell, a lust is a tough matchup for anyone. Remember that one back in Tuscon?"

"He was easy for me. I wanted it more than he did." Rac passed by a woman on the sidewalk, who held exceptional contempt for Elliot's shopping cart. It was clear that she had never seen a homeless man before. In a single motion, Rac reached up and cut loose the necklace of massive pearls from around her neck. The woman straightened up her back because of her neck's sudden lightness, but otherwise paid no mind to the other pedestrians. Rac grinned, exposing his line off needlelike teeth. He squeezed the necklace as hard as he could. "Were is he? I want to _have_ him."

"Don't forget the plan, Rac," Elliot commanded.

"Fuck the plan," Rac was worked up into a frenzy, he was almost foaming at the mouth. "You know how I get before a fight. I've been itching to eat again, and now I'm finally going to have my chance." Rac was heaving, his heavy back rising and falling at an alarming rate. Elliot knew that the boy was close. "Besides, I've beaten 3 other demons who were tougher than him. Now, I'm not afraid of anyone except for the Greed!" Rac was almost writing in anticipation at this point. He sniffed at the air again, then turned his head to see Elliot fumbling with his shopping cart. Without another word, Rac tossed the necklace into the cart and sprinted down the street.

"Rac!" Elliot called out, but his words were ignored. "Fuck," Elliot murmured. Rac was out of control. He was always anxious for a fight, but Elliot had never seen him like this. God forbid Rac gets killed. But this Lust is supposed to be a weakling, Elliot thought. How could they lose?

Connor and Blessing stood on the outskirts of the mob that surrounded the beer pong table. Blessing was dancing with his hands in the air, cheering on Troye. He was tall enough to see over the sea of bobbing heads. Connor was much shorter, and he had to watch the game through Twitter. His timeline was saturated with pictures of Troye and Owen laughing and playing. It seemed that the app was infatuated with Troye, and people kept sending him tweets and spreading around the hashtag #TroyePong. TotalFratMove, Collegefessions, and drunk, along with several other famous Twitter profiles retweeted the hashtag. #TroyePong was trending in the area. Troye didn't know any of this. He had drank several cups of beer on top of his jungle juice and was feeling drunk and happy. There was only one cup left on both sides of the table, and it was Troye's turn to shoot.

"I think he's going to make this one," Blessing yelled down to Connor.

Connor shrugged. His phone displayed an action shot of Troye, with a determined look in his eye and his tongue out in concentration, throwing a Ping-Pong ball through the air. In the picture, Owen had his hand around Troye's waist. Connor hadn't favorited or retweeted anything related to Troye that night. "Why do you care about this dumb game?"

Blessing yelled over the music. "Troye is having a lot of fun, you should be happy for him. Don't be the jealous type." Blessing had accepted a cup of juice from a girl he knew, and he hadn't stopped dancing ever since.

Connor felt his face go red. "He just should be hanging out with us, though. We're his best friends."

"If he wants to be with his crush for a little while then let him. We got here a little late, I'll take the blame for that," Blessing said, adjusting the head wrap that had taken him an hour to pick out, "But we can talk to him afterwards."

Connor shrugged again and X'd out of the picture. He looked around and saw how much drunken fun everyone was having. He was hesitant to have a drink at first, but now that he couldn't hang out with Troye… Connor tapped a girl on the shoulder. "Hey, where did you get that beer?"

The girl-along with the rest of the crowd-erupted in screams of delight as Troye's ball made a satisfying "plop" into the cup. Troye had just won his first game of beer pong. The crowd chattered incoherently.

"Oh my god, I got the video!"

"I got the picture!"

"Retweet my post!"

"I'm putting this on Reddit!"

Anon stood in the front yard with his back to the street. From street level, he could see into the large windows on the front of the house. He couldn't see Troye past the wall of people around the pong table, though. A thick bass beat struggled to escape the walls, and could be heard weakly on the street. A louder burst of excitement emanated from the house for a few minutes. Before quieting back down.

Anon breathed slowly, forming light clouds. He ran a thumb across his square jaw and absentmindedly flexed his fingers. Parked cars lined the street in his periphery. Suddenly his ears pricked up. With blinding speed, he ducked down to all fours just as a clawed hand soared over his head from behind. Still squatting, Anon pivoted on his right foot and whipped out his left in a quick arc, sweeping his assailant off of his feet. Anon regained his stance as the top-heavy Rac slammed against the pavement. He barely had time to catch breath before Rac exploded off of the ground and launched himself at Anon. Anon swung his fist, but Rac evaded the blow and wrapped him up in a tackle. Rac lifted Anon from the legs and stuck his shoulder into Anon's chest. Anon howled in pain when Rac dug his razor sharp nails into his calf muscles. Rac bulldozed Anon's back into the dirt.

Rac loosed his hands from Anon's legs and straddled on top of him on the ground. Anon had no time to think. He tried to get a look at his assailant. Anon almost choked when he saw Rac's face. The older man's dark eyes were wide with excitement, and a malicious smile exposed a row of teeth as thin as knitting needles. Anon snarled and bared his own teeth, large and broad like garden spades. Rac was bigger than Anon, but the boy could feel that his opponent was lighter, somehow. Rac lunged his hands at Anon's chest, but Anon caught both of his wrists. The two wrestled for control, their biceps bulging from the effort. Rac tried to snap at Anon with his jaws, but Anon held him at bay. Rac tipped over and the fighters began to roll around the yard, snarling and bucking at each other. Rac wriggled his fingers, trying to claw at Anon's hands, but his grip was too low for Rac to reach.

Sarah stood with one hand on her hip. She traced the rim of a cup with the pointer finger of her other hand. Bob towered over her and rested his arm around her shoulders. Sarah pouted, her lips barely touching. Bob had a drunken smile plastered across his face. He pounded his free hand on the folding table.

"Let's get this game on!" The mob cheered. Troye and Owen both had a ball in their hands. They looked at each other and grinned.

"Care to do me…" Owen trailed off before adding, "The honor of breaking the ice?"

Troye grinned and lined up a shot, then just tossed the ball into the air with abandon. In the early stages of the game, 'throw away and pray' was still a viable strategy, since all of the cups are on the table. The point cup closest to Troye wobbled as the ball splashed into it.

"Whoo!" Troye jumped for joy with his hands high above his head. Owen caught him in midair, wrapping his arms around his waist. A boy put the picture on Instagram and garnered almost a hundred Likes in less than a minute (much to his surprise).

"Got the bitch-cup," Bob mused. He drank the thing in one gulp.

"RAH!" Anon closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Rac was still straddling him on the ground, but Anon was still restraining his wrists with a vice grip. At a breakneck speed, Anon flung Rac's arms away to either side of him, making Rac fall forward. At the same time, Anon attacked with his head. Rac tried to open his mouth to bite, but he only made it worse. Anon's forehead crashed into Rac's face, crunching his narrow features in on themselves.

Rac recoiled in pain and emitted a high-pitched, nauseating scream. Bright red blood squirted from his nose and filled his mouth where several of his front teeth used to be. Rac sat back on Anon's legs and clutched at his own face with his hands. Rac didn't stop screaming until Anon bucked his legs from under him like a catapult, sending Rac headfirst into a parked car on the street. Rac left a huge dent in the vehicle, and all of the windows on the right side instantly shattered.

Anon rolled onto his stomach and hopped upright. He shook himself off, panting heavily.

"Ooh my goooodness, Troye! You've rEAAlly gotten that hang of thish game," Owen exclaimed after Troye sank his second cup. Sarah and Bob had three cups remaining on their side, while Troye and Owen boasted a full set of six.

"I guessh I'm just luckyyy is all," Troye said modestly. Bob's ball bounced off of one of the cups, and a fracas broke out when bystanders fought to retrieve the ball for Troye.

"You jusht want to put on… a good shoow for the cameras," Owen said. He made Troye laugh when he posed with a 'peace' sign for the flashing lights. Troye suspected for a minute that there was a strobe light, but in fact the flashes came from people's phones as they took more pictures than coked out paparazzi with ADHD.

Several people were live tweeting the game:

"Best party ever watching this epic game #TroyePong."

"There are cops here and they're just drinking and watching #TroyePong"

"This game with troyesivan and owen_the_rainbow is so exciting I don't even care about the car alarm going off outside of my house."

Rac swiped wildly at Anon with his claws fully extended. Anon bobbed and weaved his way through Rac's barrage. Anon was amazed at his own reflexes. The two were exerting incredible amounts of energy and moving at a lightening pace. But as the fight wore on, Anon felt himself getting filled with even more power. In the beginning of the melee, Anon had a hard time keeping up with Rac's quick movements. But now Anon was brimming with a vitality that he had never experienced before. He could sense his opponent growing more sluggish as Anon evaded his attacks.

Anon moved in close and delivered three quick jabs to Rac's abdomen. Then, he brought up his fist in a devastating uppercut to Rac's chin. Rac's head snapped back. His body hovered vertically in the air for a moment. Anon took the opportunity to plant a swift kick on Rac's sternum. He sent Rac sailing into the street.

Anon didn't break his pace. He vaulted over the mangled car with its alarm blaring and landed lightly on the street. He moved in to stabilize Rac's head so that he could punch him in a prime spot of his face. Before he could grab him, though, Rac flashed forward and slashed at Anon's face.

The boy howled in pain. Rac's sharp claws split one of Anon's cheeks down the middle in between his upper and lower jaw. A thick flap of Anon's skin hung down like a jowl. Anon narrowed his eyes and dove back over the car and into the yard. Rac was close behind, scampering over the vehicle, revitalized by his first taste of Anon's blood.

This wasn't the first party that Elliot had crashed. While in high school, Elliot was always "there." He didn't talk much, but instead he hung around the periphery of conversations and eavesdropped. Thus, he had always known about parties but was never invited, leading him to "just be there" whenever he showed up unannounced at someone's house. Elliot looked around at all of the young, happy faces. He remembered how the kids from his own school used to have fun without him. He felt the envy of years ago flood through him like water from a poorly patched dam. Elliot had never gotten over how he had wasted his childhood wanting things that his classmates possessed: He wanted to have Chris Hender's talent on the football field; he wanted to have Gavin Hardt's girlfriend, (and even now Elliot felt knots in him stomach when he pictured them fucking); he wanted to have the achievements of Greg Kite, his best friend, that caused Elliot's own mother to wish that he was her son. Elliot felt ashamed of the envy that gripped and squeezed his stomach, but he gave into its green temptation and let the envy feed off of his pain. _It will make Rac stronger. _Rac… who used to drive such nice cars, wear such nice clothes, who used to fuck such a beautiful wife…

Elliot knew enough to only sneak into big parties where he wouldn't be too out of place. Marissa's party was just like that, except for the fact that he was now a 40-year-old man at a high school party. Elliot ignored the weird glances that the kids gave him. He was used to being looked down upon, anyway. He didn't plan on staying long, either. That boy was putting up too much of a fight, though_. How could that be possible when he hadn't even killed another demon before?_ Elliot wondered how he was going to find this kid in such a huge gathering. But then he saw the beer pong table, the crowd, and all of the flashing lights. He saw a boy with a blue jumper on with another boy wrapped around him. It all made sense. _That's how his Lust demon is so strong. _Elliot knew that he had to disrupt this game, or Rac might die. _And this time I won't be the one that killed him. _Elliot pushed the thought out of his mind.

Going against his timid instincts, Elliot pushed himself to the center of the crowd, something that he thought he would never do in his life. People spilled their drinks and couples dislodged their lips as Elliot shouldered through the drunken kids. He narrowed his sights on the boy with the blue jumper on.

The demons were wrestling in the yard again, although Rac looked much more monstrous than Anon. Rac's silver fur bristled as cool air flowed over it with his quick movements. His teeth were already starting to grow back, and his remaining ones were yellow and red. His shadowy eyes rolled around and bulged out of his head.

Anon looked much more human, but he was also much worse for wear. His clothes had been torn in many places by Rac's devastating claws, and his cheek was still folded out on itself. His durable teeth were also red: Anon had bitten Rac hard on the arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh.

But Rac was much stronger than Anon. Rac lunged at Anon. Rac dodged a deadly punch, and once again he launched his shoulder into Anon's stomach. Rac kept churning his feet and blasted Anon into the sidewalk, rupturing the concrete. Anon was once again straddled by Rac, but this time the boy had a lot less energy. He struggled to get a breath of air, but Rac was sitting on his stomach and making it hard to breathe.

Rac's tongue ran furiously over his teeth in his mouth. He deftly cut an 'X' into Anon's chest. The boy screamed as thick red blood oozed through his button-down and thermal sweater. Rac rended the garments as easily one might rip through paper, leaving bare Anon's ravaged chest. The man began to squeal with perverted delight. He bore into Anon's chest with his honed nails, tossing away small chunks of flesh like a child at a toy box. Anon was shocked and blinded by the pain.

"Lust is resilient, isn't it?" Rac complained. "Your flesh is tough to tear. I can't even break though your bones!" Rac clutched one of Anon's exposed ribs and pulled, but the skeleton wouldn't crack. Anon gnashed his teeth and glared at the slaughterer above him.

"Come here you little shit!" Elliot knocked Owen aside, sending him sprawling across the table. Cups of beer flew at incredible speeds into the crowd. Troye was dumbfounded. He turned toward the intruder but was paralyzed with fear. Elliot approached him with outstretched hands and quickly apprehended him. Girls screamed and some of the boys ran away. Other's shouted angrily at Elliot.

"One move and the kid dies!" Elliot screamed. He wrapped his arm around Troye's neck and began to choke him. The music was still blaring. Troye clawed at Elliot's arm, but the man didn't let go. Elliot had always dreaded getting into a fight, but this kid was easy to handle. If he wanted to, Elliot could snap this kid like a twig. Troye's face began to turn the color of his jumper. But Elliot didn't want to kill him. He just wanted Rac to win _his _fight so that they could just go home. Not that he really had a home anymore… not since—

"AIIIHAHAHA!" Rac screeched wickedly when he finally got a good look at Anon's exposed heart. It was beating at an alarming rate in the crater that used to be Anon's chest. Scraps of bone and flesh littered the yard on either side of them.

"Finally! You little shit, you weren't supposed to be this hard to kill. But now I can finally eat! I've been waiting so looong!" Rac sniveled as he spread his mouth wide open. Several of his teeth were still missing, but the other daggers in his mouth would do the job just fine. He licked his lips and lowered his head into Anon's chest.

**WHAM**

Elliot saw stars as his head snapped to the side. Troye was released from his grasp and Elliot hit the floor. Bob stood over him, panting. Someone turned off the music, and the house was silent. Bob looked around and noticed that he was the center of the crowd. Sarah was still on the other side of the table. Her mouth was agape. He picked a beer can up off of the ground, cracked it open, and took a gulp. He held the can above his head and yelled, "WOO!" The rest of the crowd joined him.

A couple of people helped Troye back to his feet. Various others rubbed his arms and back to make him feel better. Troye just looked around, confused. He saw the man who attacked him on the floor at Bob's feet. Sarah was already draped around Bob's shoulders, and the two kissed passionately. Owen was still getting himself off of the table, wiping the beer off of his skin and clothes. Troye rushed over to him.

"Ohh my god, arne you oakay?" Troye helped Owen stand upright. When Owen was on his own two feet, he hugged Troye in a tight embrace.

"OH my gawd, Troye, I was soo scared. Who wash that guy?"

"I dunno?" Troye said. They both looked back at the man on the floor, who was knocked out cold. Owen and Troye looked back into each other's eyes. It might have been the alcohol, or the fact that he was just in a dangerous situation, but Troye felt himself melting in Owen's arms. They were face to face so that their noses were almost touching. Owen smiled warmly and hugged Troye tighter. Troye closed his eyes and leaned his head. Owen did the same. Their lips brushed against each other's. Troye shuddered with pleasure. Owen's lips were softer than he could even imagine. Troye went back in for another kiss. Owen took Troye's lower lip lightly into his mouth. Troye sucked on Owen's upper lip. Then they switched, and Troye gently squeezed Owen's lower lip with his own. This continued on while the people around them took tons of pictures. Troye and Owen were endlessly retweetwed in a matter of minutes. The picture that went viral showcased Owen and Troye kissing in front of Bob, who held up an unconscious Elliot and a thumbs-up. The picture was picked up and shared by HuffPostGay and BuzzFeedLGBT, garnering thousands of views in moments (Apparently the people who aren't out with friends on Friday nights just sit around and constantly refresh their social media feeds for entertainment) under the headline _Two Gay Kids Get Assaulted (And Then Rescued) At a High School Party. _It began trending almost instantaneously.

"EIIIYYYEEE!" Rac shrieked he felt Anon's teeth sink deep into his neck. Anon grabbed Rac's arms so that he couldn't be scratched again. Rac kicked with his legs, but Anon continued to manhandle him. Anon felt a surge of adrenaline kick in, and he no longer felt any of the pain that had come from his face and chest. He didn't feel fatigue, either. Rac couldn't move his upper body at all, since Anon controlled the movement in his arms and neck. Rac snapped at the concavity in Anon's chest, but it was out of reach. Anon rolled Rac away from him, still biting into his neck. Anon was now on top, straddling Rac, hunched over because he was still clamping onto his neck with his mouth. Since Anon's check was torn open and allowed for his mouth to open even wider, he was able to bite incredibly deep into Rac's neck. When he had over half of Rac's neck in his mouth, Anon clenched his teeth together. Rac writhed on the ground until Anon's teeth connected. Then Rac went limp.

Anon spit the flesh aside. Rac's head, with only half a neck to support it, drooped onto his shoulder; his eyes were open, but they saw nothing in the dark of the night.

Anon gingerly touched the gorge that Rac had burrowed into his chest. He could feel his heart beating rapidly, but he didn't touch it with his hands. Bright red blood dripped from Anon's chest onto Rac's motionless body. Anon noticed for the first time that Rac wore a torn business suit that was black with thin white pinstripes. The suit wasn't just ripped from where Anon bit him, though. The seams had burst in several places and the sleeves had been split off. It looked as if the man had undergone an incredible growth spurt while he was still wearing his clothes. Tufts of silver fur sprouted from the suit in various places.

Anon sat on Rac's lifeless body for a moment, contemplating what he should do next. The party was still raging inside. _Should I see if Troye is okay? Who the hell was this guy, and how could I have fought like that?_ Anon looked over at the wrecked car in the street. _I did that… _Where did the strength come from to do that? Where did the lightning fast reflexes come from to give Anon the ability to fight this beast?

Anon touched delicately at his chest again. A few drops of blood landed onto Rac's right breast pocket. _Did he say he wanted to… eat my heart? _Carefully, he unbuttoned Rac's suit from the neck to about halfway down. Rac's furry chest was now fully exposed. Anon licked his lips. He suddenly felt very hungry. Anon bared his menacing teeth and lowered his head. He prepared to feast.


	12. Chapter 12: 1337 hax0rs

Chapter 12

On Monday morning, Troye Sivan sat in his third period class in the dead center of the first row of desks. He could feel the gaze of dozens of students on his back. Things had gotten weird ever since the party on Friday. Everyone in school kept talking to Troye about the OTP that was Troye and Owen. Troye had also gained hundred of thousands of followers over the weekend, totaling to around 300,000. Troye would have been ecstatic if it weren't for the oddities that outweighed the blessings.

First of all, Troye was shocked to learn about Anon's fight when he woke up the next morning. At first, he didn't believe the story that Anon told him, even when he saw the thin scar on Anon's cheek coming from the left corner of his mouth. But Troye's mind was irrefutably changed when Anon showed him the monstrosity of scar tissue that was now his chest. The proof was undeniable, although neither boy knew how it could be possible for such wounds to heal so quickly. Of course, they didn't know anything about the world that they had inadvertently stumbled into until Troye received a mysterious message on his phone the next day.

Troye woke up that Sunday morning in his bed. Warm blue paint covered the walls, and a soft white carpet was on the floor. Sunlight flooded his room through his open window. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and adjusted the loose t-shirt from around his neck. As he did every morning, Troye checked his phone. Whereas last week Troye would have woken up to a small amount of Instant Messages, today Troye's phone boasted over 100 texts. Troye went into his Mail to sift through the texts. It wasn't too difficult to navigate the messages. A lot of the time, a few people sent multiple messages, despite the unspoken two-text rule (some even triple-texted). Troye scrolled down the screen and surveyed the mail through drowsy eyes. A few messages were from Blessing, one from his younger brother Tyde, Sarah, Marissa, and other messages from people who had put their number into his phone at the party. Surprisingly, Connor had not texted him. Troye had saved contacts for every single one of the people that he talked to over the phone. At the bottom of the list, however, there were a couple texts from unsaved contacts. The first message was banal, but the second one slapped the sleep out of Troye. He sat straight up in bed while he read it.

?-?-?: Troye, my name is Fix. That's all the information that I am willing to give to you about my identity. However, I will help you to navigate the peril that you have gotten yourself into.

Troyesivan18: What? Who is this?

?-?-?: Troye, I've already told you, my name is Fix. You may refer to me as that from now on, although I don't advise you to bring up my name to anyone other than your Familiar.

Troyesivan18: My Familiar?

?-?-?: Your demon, phantom, wraith, ghost. Whatever you have chosen to call the boy that only you can see.

Troye felt his stomach constrict, and his face turned pale. _Who the hell is this guy?_ Troye flung his phone across the bed, and turned toward Anon.

Troye said, "Are you pranking me or something? How are you texting my phone?"

Anon didn't look away from the porn playing on the computer, but he dropped the bottle of Everclear vodka from his lips and shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even have a phone."

Troye considered his situation. There was a ghost following him, or a Familiar, or whatever. And, instead of just being a nice ghost, this one fights other ghosts, too. And sometimes these ghosts follow around real people who might attack him. And now there was someone who knew about all of this and was contacting Troye on his personal phone. Troye didn't want this person to cause him any more trouble, and he especially feared for his family. Troye wondered for a moment if this number could have been the man who attacked him on Saturday. Everyone was too drunk to call 911, and they just left him there until the next day. When everyone woke up, the man was gone. Troye reached across the bed and retrieved his phone.

?-?-?: I'm not going to hurt you in any way, Troye. I want to help you. You have gotten wrapped up in something much bigger than yourself. Without me, your familiar is sure to die, and you could possibly suffer the same fate. Now, let me help you.

Troyesivan18: First of all I don't even know who you are. And I have a few questions before I talk to you anymore. I'll ask again. Who are you? How do you know who I am? And what do you mean by Familiar?

Troye paused for a moment, then sent another message: Are you an enemy or a friend?

The answer came quickly, as if the stranger already knew what Troye was going to say.

?-?-?: For the last time, my name is Fix. I cannot tell you any more about my identity. But I know about you and your situation. You and your familiar were attacked last Friday night while you were at a social gathering. You were attacked by a human, while his familiar attacked your own. Do you remember reading aloud a certain ritual recently?

Troye's heart skipped a beat. _How does he know about that? _Troye answered 'Yes.'

?-?-?: I will inform you of what you have gotten yourself into. The ritual that you incanted was an ancient and sacred pact between gods and men. By reciting its words, you have displayed a willingness to take part in a practice that has spanned eons. I assume that you were unaware of all of this when you spoke the words. Usually this would mean that you would die, but you chanced by an unwitting sacrifice, did you not?

The night on the bridge flooded back into Troye's memory. He hadn't thought of the ritual at all when he first saw the boy, since too many other things had occupied his attention afterwards. But if the boy had acted as a coincidental scapegoat for Troye… Fix didn't wait for a response.

?-?-?: Think carefully, Troye. What did you desire when you read the ritual?

Troye scrunched his eyebrows in concentration. Before he read the words, he had been talking about his YouTube channel with Blessing and Connor. He was worried about his videos' popularity, and he wished that more people would view them. He also thought about how famous Tyler Oakley was, and how much Troye would love to work with him (or even just _be_ with him). Troye told all of this to Fix.

?-?-?: That's what I figured. I have been doing research on you, Troye. When I first saw your familiar in one of your YouTube videos, I had a hunch that you wished for fame. My postulate seemed correct when I tracked your channel's Subscription count. You have steadily increased your Subscription count by more than 100,000 times. While this may appear to be good news to you, it does not come without cost.

Troye swallowed his anxiety and kept reading.

?-?-?: When humans incant the ritual and make a sacrifice, their wishes are granted. They get what they desired. In your case, this is fame. However, their sacrifices don't just disappear, like you know. Their spirits come back as familiars, and they are bound to whatever mage summons them. No one can see these spirits except for the one who sacrificed them, and other mages that have made their own sacrifices. This is where your fame may become the bane of you, Troye. Familiars can increase their power by defeating other familiars and consuming their bodies—the heart in particular. This leads the familiars to seek food. Depending on what type of familiar they are, the desire to feed may be greater or lesser. Unfortunately for you, your fame makes you a prime target for familiars and their partners. You will be very high-profile in the coming months, and many other mages will learn of the origin of your fame. They will hunt you down so that they may become more powerful. The Envy that you encountered was just the first. There will be more.

Troye's mouth hung open in disbelief. How could any of this be possible, he thought. He never asked for any of this. All he wanted was for his content to be more popular, but Troye would never go to this extreme length for fame. He shot Anon a glare of contempt.

Troyesivan18: Look, I didn't ask for any of this. I read the ritual, but I didn't make a sacrifice or anything.

?-?-?: I believe that your presence during a willing death was enough to bind a familiar to you. Whether you asked for it or not, you are now irrevocably involved.

"Look what you got me into!" Troye said. Anon swiveled around in his chair. A busty woman's expression of ecstasy played on the screen behind him.

"You made me make a sacrifice, and now I'm getting hunted down! All because of you!" Troye's eyes were wide with fear, and his stomach was doing somersaults. Troye had never been so frightened in his life. This was all just too creepy.

"What they hell are you talking about?" Anon asked. Troye simply threw him the phone. Anon read what Fix had written.

"Actually, that makes a lot of sense," Anon said when he was finished. He rubbed his chin. Troye threw his arms out in frustration.

"What part of that makes any sense? None of this makes any fricking sense at all!"

"No, hear me out. The guy that attacked me was seriously freaky. Like, his teeth were all pointy and thin like knives-"

"So are yours!" Troye said.

"Let me finish," Anon said angrily. "He also had a kind of snout, like a rodent. And his ears were pointy, too. Also, he was covered in fur. Not like your normal body hair, I'm talking real animal fur. It was grey and bristly. He definitely wasn't a human, and he could move way faster than one, too."

"So what are you saying?" Troye asked cautiously.

"I'm saying that it makes sense that they guy was like a familiar or whatever. Like he was a demon or something."

Troye was familiar with the term 'familiar.' They were supposed to be spirits that a witch or other magic user summoned from another realm to do their bidding. In folklore, familiars would take the form of animals. In modern popular culture, such as video games, familiars could be elemental or ghostly NPCs that would aid the main character in battle.

"What did he mean by 'type of familiar?' Ask him," Anon said. Troye did as he was asked.

?-?-?: Familiars take several main forms. Seven, to be precise. These types survived ancient times and made their way into myth. You may know these types as the Seven Deadly Sins.

Troyesivan18: Doesn't that seem a little cliché?

?-?-?: Make no mistake. The Sins evolved from the ritual, not the other way around. You wouldn't know about the Sins unless the familiars came first to inspire them. But since I know this information, it is useful for me to classify the enemies that are out there. For instance, I have a feeling that your own familiar is a Lust. I gathered this from the fact that most of your fans' comments have been very sexual. Lust for fame isn't uncommon, especially if there is a famous person that you desire sexually.

Troye thought of Tyler Oakley, and how much he would love to be with him.

?-?-?: Precisely. Are there any other signs of Lust around you? Do people start to act overtly sexual when your familiar is around?

"Yeah," Anon said. "Wherever I go, people just start hooking up with each other. Like at your school, and even at shops and stores in public." Anon laughed aloud. "And that party was basically an orgy. Everyone just started hooking up all over the place. I saw two people fucking on the front porch when I was fighting that beast."

Troye relayed this information to Fix.

?-?-?: This is good news. Lust is not one of the most common familiar types, but it is one of the most versatile and powerful. Lust is resilient, and your familiar should be very durable. He will also be able to heal quickly from injury and will have incredible stamina. Also, in battle, a Lust will feel a unique passion and will gain more strength as the fight wears on, like a lover in the heat of the moment.

Anon agreed that this sounded realistic. He reported feeling stronger the more that he fought, while his opponent was visibly weaker during the end.

?-?-?: I have reason to believe that your attacker was an Envy. Envies are strong during the beginning of a fight, but they lose their potency as time wears on. However, Envies are unique in that they can sense other familiars over great distances. This is probably how this Envy found you in the first place. I know that he had encountered other familiars before, and was very powerful because of it. You are lucky that he attacked you when he did.

Troyesivan18: Why?

?-?-?: Like I said before, you and your familiar are intertwined in ways that even I do not fully understand yet. But as your familiar will make you more famous, so can you reciprocate the effect. I saw the pictures of you that circulated popular media sites.

Troye found himself blushing at the memory of kissing Owen at the beer pong table. It must have been the alcohol, otherwise Troye would never have done such a sexual thing in public. He cringed at his actions, but continued reading.

?-?-?: Those pictures of you and your boyfriend were shared thousands of times, making you even more famous. The combination of widespread attention and sexual action gave strength to your Lust, both of fame and of body. Troye, if those pictures didn't make it online, your familiar would surely be dead right now.

Troye couldn't help but feel pride that he had given power to Anon, but he was still embarrassed at the widely public displays of affection that Anon's strength had come from. He didn't even correct Fix about Owen's relationship status with Troye.

?-?-?: You see, you two are linked. Your familiar will make you incredibly famous. It is no coincidence that your pictures, your YouTube channel, and your social media sites are receiving so much attention. The people of this planet will be supernaturally infatuated with you from now on. Whatever you do is sure to make headlines and dominate social media sites. While this will give you untold earthly wealth, it comes at a price. Like I said, other familiar pairs will see you and know your secret. They will come after you in hopes of defeating your familiar. They may also harm you in the process. I know that the human who attacked you was knocked unconscious, yes?

Troyesivan18: Yeah, a kid at the party knocked him out when he tried to strangle me.

?-?-?: Humans and familiars are bound together. I cannot stress that enough. But their relationship to each other is not symmetrical. If a familiar is defeated in battle, its human will continue to live, although they will no longer receive its blessing. However, if a human is killed, its familiar will instantly disappear. When the human lost consciousness, his familiar was severely weakened. That was how your familiar was able to beat him.

"Hm, so we really lucked out, huh?" Anon said. He took another gulp of Everclear. Troye almost gagged, remembering the taste of a celebratory shot that he took with Owen and Bob two nights before.

"How can you be so flip about this?" Troye asked. "This is serious business. We are going to have people fighting us all the time, and you don't even seem like you care."

"Let them come," Anon said. "I fought that last guy and I killed him." Although Anon pretended to be confident, his voice wavered when he said the word 'kill.' Anon visualized himself digging into Rac's chest with his teeth. Troye barely picked up on it, though. "If anything, this is good news. Before, we had no fucking idea what was going on. But now we actually know what I am, and who that other guy was. We know why everyone has been acting so freaking horny lately, and we know why you are suddenly blowing up online." Anon tipped his bottle at Troye in a toast. "This is a good thing."

?-?-?: I am sure that you still have many questions. I didn't think that you would believe all of the things that I am telling you now, but I wanted to share this information with you anyway. At least now you know that you aren't being haunted or punished, and at the very least it must be a relief that you haven't been hallucinating.

Troye had to agree with what he was being told. It still didn't make much sense to him, and he had a hard time believing all of it, but in the end it was an explanation. Troye had to be skeptical, but he chose to take Fix's word for it. The stranger knew enough details about Troye that his word seemed believable, although he was still creeped out by how much this guy knew.

Troyesivan18: So wait, how do you know all this? Can you see me right now?

?-?-?: Don't worry, I don't have your room bugged or wiretapped or anything of the sort. I have no need for such tools. As you probably have put together by now, I have made a similar sacrifice, although mine was wholly intentional. My familiar gives me all of the information that I need. But I cannot see you, and you will not see me. At least for now. However, I would like to work with you. I think that we can be of use to one another. Of course, we will have to keep our distance. If we were to meet face to face, our familiars wouldn't be able to resist devouring each other. That being said, I have given you a lot of information about yourself, but not so much about your familiar. Would you like me to share?

Troyesivan18: What do you know about Anon?

Troye hit send before he realized that he had used his familiar's nickname. Fix would presumably have no knowledge of such an intimate detail. However, Troye figured that Fix would have no problem putting the pieces together.

?-?-?: I'll get right to the point. Look up Ross Stice on Google. The boy who committed suicide last week has been found.

Troye almost choked. He looked up from his phone to Anon. The familiar was back to watching porn on the computer, savoring 151 proof vodka. Now that he thought of it, Troye didn't know why this boy would want to kill himself. He seemed so carefree and playful most of the time. Just give him some pornography and something foul enough to tingle his taste buds and Anon would be happily content for hours on end. _What would cause him to commit suicide?_

?-?-?: I'm surprised the authorities haven't contacted you, since you were the last person to see him. The boy's parents are very sheltering and clandestine, so they probably wouldn't want to bring any outsiders into such a private affair. The body was found a few days ago, and the funeral is today. The details should be online.

"Anon, you might want to check this out." Troye spoke in a measured voice. He didn't know how his familiar would react to the news. Troye lifted the blanket off of himself, stepped out of bed, and walked slowly to the computer. "Here, let me show you."

"Dude, come on, I'm not done yet," Anon said, but he moved aside regardless. As Troye leaned over use the computer, he noticed that Anon appeared larger than he had been before. His jaw was stronger, and his muscles pulled taut the thermal and the button down shirt underneath. (Somehow, his clothes had been repaired after the fight. Troye had found this unbelievable, but Anon found it inexplicable. Anon did not sleep at night, but claimed that he didn't notice how his clothes were restored.) There were also more subtle differences to him. Anon's ears had started to taper at the top, as did his fingernails. Also, while Anon used to be hairless, he now sported a facefull of stubble that was perpetually the length of 5-o'clock shadow. His torso, as well as his arms, hands, and knuckles, had also sprouted black hairs. Troye suspected that his legs were also hairy, but Anon's clothes covered them up.

"Here, you might be interested in this," Troye said. He stepped back from the computer and let Anon read from the screen. The only article that was available was just a short blurb on the local news site.

"Local boy, 20, found dead in river. Police have identified the body as Ross Stice of Greatwood County, who was a sophomore at Greatwood Community College. Authorities find the death suspicious, but have ruled out foul play. The funeral will be held on Monday. Ross' parents have requested us to respectfully withhold more information." Anon stared at the screen. The exhaust fan inside of the laptop whirred loudly. Anon exhaled. "So, what? That was me?"

"Yeah, that's what Fix just told me," Troye said.

"Oh." Anon clicked away from the article and back to Pr0nhub.

"What are you doing?" Troye was incredulous. "We just found out where your body is, and you don't even care?"

Anon shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, my body is right here. I don't know who that kid is that killed himself, but it's not me. I don't have any memory of that."

"But he _was _you, at least. Don't you get that? This kid that died was you, and now you're here. I for one am really curious about this."

"Well I'm not. Maybe it's because I'm a familiar now, but I don't really care about this petty human stuff. From now on I'm just going to watch porn, drink Everclear, and fight demons."

"How can you say that?" Troye was frowning. Anon ignored him. Troye sat back down on his bed. He sent a text to Fix, and only had to wait a couple of seconds for a response.

"The funeral is on Monday, at 9:00 AM. I think you should go," Troye said.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you need to find out who you are. Who your parents are. Who your friends are," Troye said. "I don't know how you familiars perceive the world, but this stuff is important of normal people. I would feel a lot better if you went." Troye had still felt guilty after Ross' death, but didn't vocalize his feelings to his family or friends, or even to Anon. He didn't want them to feel sorry for him.

Anon finished his bottle of Everclear, set it down, and cracked open a new one. He had stashed 30 bottles of it in Troye's closet, all of which he had stolen from various liquor stores. "Okay, I'll go," he said. "If it will make you happy, I'll go. I live to serve you, don't I?"

Troye smiled. "Well, I wouldn't say that you're my slave or anything, but you could take my advice once and a while."

"Are you going to come, too?"

"I don't think I should. I didn't know you—before… and anyway if his parents wanted me to come then they would have contacted me. But Fix said that they want to keep the funeral private. You would be able to attend it unseen, though."

"And what if you get attacked while I'm gone?"

"I think I'll be fine for a couple of hours," Troye said. "Plus, now I have Fix who might be able to alert me about oncoming attacks." Anon considered this, and nodded his head.

"Okay, I'll check it out. But I'm not staying for long," he said.

"You can do whatever you want," Troye said. "It's your funeral." He tried to smile, but Troye realized that he found his own joke humorless. He checked his phone again when he felt its vibration.

?-?-?: I need to go now, but you can text me whenever you have a question from now on. I will do my best to answer. By the way, I don't expect you to try to track this number, but know that it is untraceable. I will keep in touch.

Troye was wary of all of this secrecy, but he felt better knowing that someone was looking out for him. Still, he was terrified of the information that he had learned that day. Secret informants, suicidal adolescents, and violent familiars were all a part of Troye's life now. _Is all of that a fair price to pay for untold fame and wealth?_ Troye couldn't easily decide if it was all worth it. Having your life completely shattered will cause confusion in just about anyone, and Troye was not immune. He looked over again at Anon. _My familiar. My Lust. _Anon had made Troye nervous from the beginning, but he seemed more innocuous when Troye didn't know exactly what he was. Now that the truth had been revealed, Anon seemed more concrete, and the threat that he represented was all too real. Troye was grateful for the information, but he wondered whether it would have been better to remain ignorant and just let Anon fight his battles.

_Does that mean that I don't care if he dies? _Ross was already dead. Would it be that much different if Anon died too? Troye shook the thought from his head. It would be easier for Troye to go on living without the danger that Anon would bring with him, but Troye thought that it would be inhumane for him to wish death upon his familiar. _Even if he _is_ no longer human._ Still, the thought of safety enticed Troye, and even three days later, on Monday, Troye couldn't help but feel more at ease with Anon gone. At least until his third period class at 10:00.

Troye felt very alone without Anon for the first time, but that was a good thing. He longed for time by himself, ever since his familiar first came into his life. Of course, even without Anon, Troye would never truly be alone. His hundreds of thousands of fans would assure that. But even his most fervent admirers in his class wouldn't fully share this particular experience with Troye.

Mrs. Griffon was absent that day, and the last minute substitute teacher didn't have any material. Instead of learning how to write SAT essays, the class was watching a film about Attila the Hun. The students in the class tried their best to pay attention, but a lot of them found their eyes inadvertently turning towards Troye in the front of the room. They all giggled when, during a particularly gruesome scene (involving the bounding and quartering of one of the Hun's victims) Troye almost jumped out of his seat. "Aw, how cute," someone whispered in the back. Troye, however, was couldn't even see the screen.

Although no one noticed it, the door to the class swung open, and a horrifying woman stepped into the room. Her dull red high-heels clacked against the floor, although no one in the room could hear them. When she stepped in front of the movie projector, dim light glittered off of her sequin dress. She brushed long, platinum blonde hair out of her eyes as she stood directly in front of Troye, who gripped his desk's sides and sat as far back in his seat as possible with an expression of horror.

The woman fully spread open the blue, feathery wings were her arms should have been and flapped them lightly. She also fanned her extravagant eye-spotted tail feathers that completely obscured the movie screen from Troye's view.

"Trrrroye Sivan!" The woman shrieked. Troye thought that he was going to pass out due to fear. He also wondered how this monster could trill her R's, since her mouth was a two-foot long beak. "I come bearrring a prrroposition for battle!"


	13. Chapter 13:Carrion: My Wayward Son

Chapter 13

Anon sat on the stone steps in front of the gothic Catholic church where, inside, his body waited. Cars drove by in the street, and other's walked past on the sidewalk. None of them paid any mind to the boy. A dreary mat of clouds hung in the overcast sky. It had rained lightly only a few hours before, when the sun still slept. The rain had left the air clear and cool, and a light breeze caressed the familiar's face. Anon could not feel the air. He hadn't felt much of anything for as long as he could remember. Only the alcohol could him any sort of sensation. And… Anon shuddered as he felt the phantom claws of the demon that had torn though his face, his clothes, his chest, and his ribs.

Anon sighed and he pushed himself to his feet. He had been fighting himself for the last forty-five minutes to walk through the doors. _If I stay here any longer, I'm going to miss my own funeral._ He had debated even entering the building. If he left now, he could simply lie to Troye and say that he went inside. _Or I disobey him. I am his familiar, not his slave._ _Who is he to tell me what to do? _Anon took a deep breath. He would only have to be there for a short time, since he had already missed almost an hour of the proceedings. Anon decided to swallow his uneasiness and walk inside. As he grasped the iron handle on the door, Anon told himself that he wasn't scared. He shook his head and pushed away his fear, replacing it with uncertain apathy. _Much better._

Anon entered the church. Overpowering, melancholy tones of an unseen organ boomed throughout the main room. The air was much thicker than outside, past the massive oaken doors. Small candles burned inside the inner chamber, and a bowl of incense sent tendrils of smoke drifting towards the high, steeped ceiling. The interior of the church was impressive yet simply made, constructed from heavy grey stone and not much else. Ornamenting the rough walls were the fourteen Stations of the Cross. Seven were spaced on either side of the congregation. Anon noticed that the final station depicted Jesus being laid in the tomb, but there was no sign of the Resurrection to be seen. High on the walls, above the Stations, were dozens of stained glass windows of myriad colors and shapes. All of them depicted Catholic Saints. St. Catherine of Alexandria, St. Stephen, St. David, and St. Paul gazed at the Mass from their perches. Minimal light shone through the windows from outside, and the saints seemed somber in their motley of rainbow glass, especially with the harrowing tunes of the organ swirling about the room.

At the front of the church, flowers of red, purple, and yellow, freshly picked from May gardens, sprung from the stone foot of the white altar. A large picture of the deceased sat atop the altar, and a banner hung under it. It read: "Our Dearly Departed, Ross Stice," in ornate gold on white. In the picture, Ross looked out over the crowed, smiling, and seemed cheerful at their presence. Anon shared no similar sentiment.

Anon was surprised to see that the seats were packed with hundreds of people. Even though his face was displayed at the front of the church, Anon felt like an intruder; he didn't know a single person in the room. In the back of the church, where Anon entered, rows and rows of adults sat with small children. Everyone was dressed in suits or gowns of black, even the kids. Anon almost felt awkward that he was so grossly underdressed. _Whatever, it's my funeral anyway. I can wear whatever I want. _Anon feigned boredom and made his face implacable, but then he remembered that no one could see him. He scoffed bitterly at himself. Then, the familiar paused for a moment to survey the crowd. While the young ones didn't seem affected by the gloom around them, their parents held them tight as if the children's mere presence among the dead might make them meet the same fate. Anon turned from the uneasy mothers and somber fathers and made his way to the front of the church. The sorrowful sound of the organ seemed to be trying to crush him under its weight.

Near the front of the church, the casket stood in the middle of the center aisle that divided the church in two. Soft light from the candles illuminated the dark polished wood. Anon stood next to it. He ran his fingers over the thick golden railings on its side. For a moment, he debated opening the lid, to see what he once looked like. No one would notice. He could just take a peek, to see who he once was. _But I'm not that person any more, am I?_ The woeful organ pressed into his chest, constricting his breath. Anon shuddered and wrenched his fingers from the casket's imposing surface. He moved on to the front pews, where the crowd was aged more homogenously.

Anon stood at the front of the church and faced the groups of people who he assumed were his classmates. They were all of the same age as him, and looked to be at least in college. Each of them was dressed in black, like the families in the back. Anon tugged uneasily at the white collar that stuck out from his thermal. Most of the kids wore deep frowns, and their faces were downcast to their clasped hands. A girl in the third row sobbed silently into a boy's shoulder. Anon felt his gut involuntarily clench at the sight of her. He quickly looked away. _It's not my problem anymore, is it?_

"Why did he do it?" One boy whispered to another. His friend didn't look up from the ground, but simply shrugged. "But he didn't show any signs, did he?" The other boy gave no answer. Anon though he saw the boy's lip quivering. "I just wish that he would have said something, you know? We could have helped him."

"Yeah, just shut up, man," the other boy said. The first boy's eyes went wide, but he calmed down once he registered the dolorous bitterness in his friend's voice and saw the white knuckles of his clenched fists. Anon felt anger rise in himself, but he didn't know where it was aimed. _It's not my fault, right?_

Elsewhere, red-eyed youths hugged each other or held hands in their seats. Few tried speaking through the organ's woeful cries. Suddenly, the music stopped. A boy pointed to a section of the program paper on the second page. The hundreds of eyes in the church turned to the first row of pews on the right side of the room. Four people stood up, supporting each other, and made their way to the podium that stood at the right of the altar. Anon felt as if a punch hit him in the gut when he realized that those people were his family.

The Stice's stoic walk to the podium was met with utter silence from the congregation, all the more conspicuous in the absence of the organ's throes. Anon stood completely still. Any breath that he would have used to make a sound had left him, but Anon didn't notice that he had stopped breathing. The male Stice's footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls, while the women's black heels pierced the silence repeatedly like a knife in a crime of passion. When his former family took their places behind the microphone, Anon forgot that there were others gathered behind him. The only people that mattered to him were his family.

They stood tall behind the podium. Ross's mother and sister stood side by side in front of his father and brother, who rested their hands on the girls' respective shoulders. Ross's sister adjusted the microphone to her height. Her blonde hair tumbled around the black dress about her shoulders like sunlight breaking the dusk. Her deep blue eyes blinked back tears, matching those of her mother and brother. Ross's father stood back, stolid and implacable, staring blankly before him. Anon noticed that Ross's picture shared the same hazel eyes as his father. While Ross's eyes were bright, though, the light had long since gone out of Mr. Stice's.

"Ross could light up a room in a way that no one else could, simply because he didn't try to," Ross's sister began. She spoke slowly in a clear, unwavering voice. "His carefree attitude allowed him to laugh off his problems, yet he had a willfulness that made him selflessly help anyone in need. He was always quick with a smile or a lighthearted joke, even when no one else was in the mood for it." The girl stifled a cough, halfway between a sob and laugh. Her brother's lip quivered violently behind her. "Ross spent a lot of time alone, but I wouldn't call him lonely. When we would come home after a long day, he was always there to happily greet us like a puppy." This time, she did laugh, though it was short lived. Beside her, Ross's mother let out a sob. Her husband squeezed her shoulder, his face still a mask.

"He was quiet, but that was because he was thoughtful. He was gentle, but he wasn't timid. He was always calm, but never passive. Although he kept to himself, Ross always had a way of making others feel wanted. Just the atmosphere that he brought with him made others feel comfortable and content. Whenever Ross was in the room with you, he made you feel as if everything was all right." Ross's sister sighed, then looked at Ross's picture before turning her head to the ceiling. Moving her lips to the microphone again, and with a voice that was beginning to falter, she said, "But I guess now that you are in heaven, you will always be in the room with us, wherever we go. Whenever I feel anxious, or lonely, or scared, I will think of you, Ross. I will ask for your smile, or a kind word, or even just to have you sit next to me, and I will know that everything will be okay." No longer able to control herself, Ross's sister turned to her mother and embraced her. "I love you, Ross. I love you."

Ross's mother seemed to be taking it the hardest. She buried her head into her daughter's shoulder, heaving between sobs. Through reddening eyes, the girl looked once again to the ceiling. Her brother wrapped his arms around the two of them, like he thought Ross might do. Anon stood paralyzed. _It's okay, it's okay. It's not my fault. I don't even know these people, anyway._ Ross tried his best to harden his heart, to quell the rush of any emotion before he lost his cool. He had no connection to these people… And yet there was his face, gazing out onto the crowd. There was his mother and his sister. There was his brother, who looked so much like him, and the father that he would have surely grown to resemble. Anon couldn't remember the love that he had for all of them, but he felt it rising inside of him, heating up his chest like a furnace and making his heart beat faster. Anon turned his head away. He wanted to push away the feelings that were gushing into him. He couldn't bear to face the people that were hurting so much in front of him,until he heard Ross's father move for the first time.

Mr. Stice, a solid, rugged man, began to weep. The tears broke through his implacable features and ran down his cheeks. For some reason, the sight of this man's agony especially filled Anon with incredible sadness. The man of the house was expected to be strong for the rest of his family, and it was rare to see a grown man cry. But Ross's dad's bared emotions expressed the reality of the situation. It was no time for patriarchal expectations or cultural gender roles. Ross's father, who loved his son with fathomless propensity, broke down before his entire community, stricken with the grief of a collapsed home and a shattered heart.

Anon felt unbidden tears run down his face. He blinked them away angrily. "No, this wasn't—NO! This wasn't me! I didn't do _any_ of this." He wanted to scream, he wanted to run up and hug his family. _But they aren't my family, are they? _"Are they?" Anon asked aloud. Even if he were to run up to the podium, yell out for his brother and sister and parents, ask for their forgiveness, tell them that, yes, he _was _here, it _was_ going to be okay… it wouldn't make a difference. They couldn't see his tears, they couldn't feel his embrace, they couldn't hear the reassuring words that he could offer.

Anon felt sadness weigh him down from the pit of his stomach, yet unaimed anger bubbled up from beneath it. The Stice's sorrow flowed through the microphone, resonating throughout the chamber, even more harrowing than the organ's dreadful song. Anon yearned for that depressing organ to flood the church again, to drown out the awful cries of Ross's—no—_his _family, who stood all alone behind the podium.

Anon turned back towards the congregation. "How can you just sit there?" He screamed at them, but they simply hung their heads. No one made a move to rise and console the family. "You call yourself my friends? Go help my family!" Anon heard his screams turn into shrieks, yet he felt no shame. If his own father could bare naked emotion, Anon could do the same. When no one in the mass acknowledged him, Anon felt his anger turn inwards. He clawed at the tears that stained his face with the pads of his fingers.

"How could you do this to them?" Anon whipped his head towards the poster board that displayed his smiling face. Where before Anon interpreted innocent cheer, he now saw only snide ungratefulness. "How can you be happy like this? How can you smile?" Anon ran to the front of the church, poised to rip the smirking poster in half. He caught himself right before his sharp claws could rend the icon. _That would make me no better than you. I won't take anything else away from my family._

Instead of the poster, Anon turned again and skittered towards the casket, hot tears blurring his vision. Anon clenched his jaw in frustration as he fumbled with the clasps. "How could you do this?" As he flung open the lid, the organ began to play again.

Anon was suddenly bombarded with an assault of sensations. His family's sobs still sounded through the church speakers. The invisible organ once again resumed its ubiquitous, melancholy cry like that of a mourning whale. Anon experienced an intense bout of vertigo and dizziness. His eyes constricted into tunnel vision, and he felt like he was looking into a mirror with another behind him, gazing into an infinite and terrifying recursion.

And then there was the stench.

Anon reeled as the noxious odor erupted from the open casket. Anon had felt only few sensations since Troye had found him on the bridge, but this smell was by far the most powerful. The rotten stench of death curled into his nostrils and clawed its way straight to his brain. Anon could feel the putrid smell coursing through his veins, worming its way into every cavity of his body, feeding off of his insides like a disgusting parasite. Anon tore away from the open casket and stumbled down the aisle until he doubled over, his hands on his knees, and retched. Thick black phlegm spattered the white marble of the floor. Anon convulsed violently until his stomach was empty.

_That face. That face… That's not my face! _The encompassing, omnipresent organ made him want to curl up into a ball, and the Stice's cries made him want to scream. The overloading of sounds made Anon feel as if the walls were caving in around him, constricting his chest and denying him breath. _That face…_

Anon regarded the dark slime on the ground with disgust. He then straightened up and turned back to the casket. Anon covered his nose with both hands, and gazed down at the one who had caused all of this pain.

The waterlogged cadaver had been found in the river after about a week. Ross's bloated face stared back at him through one sallow eye. The other eye was missing; a brown mass of goop was nestled in the otherwise vacant socket above bulbous cheeks, a clogged nose, and swollen dripping lips. Its pallid skin looked slick and waxy. Thin strands of hair clung to its head like scattered bits of seaweed. Black scabs littered his face, neck, and hands like barnacles. Someone had stuffed his body into a suit that had become soiled and rank as it slowly wrung moisture out of the dead boy. The noxious fumes that seeped out of the body were almost too much for Anon to bear He was about to close the lid when he noticed a defined protuberance beneath Ross's left lapel. With one hand still secure over his nose, Anon reached under the jacket to remove the item. He gagged when his fingers brushed against the squishy polyps through Ross's shirt, and he quickly removed the object of his curiosity.

Anon shut the lid on the nightmarish corpse and examined the treasure that he had procured: It was a small book, 8 by 10 inches. Worn, nondescript black leather covered the pages that stacked about an inch thick. The edges of the pages were damp and yellowed. The book itself reeked of dank carrion. Anon flipped through the moist, crinkled pages that were covered with scrawlings of black, blue, and red ink. He turned to the first page, which, in faded black ink, read:

"_I Earnestly Request that You Not Read the Contents of this Book, Unless, of Course, You are its Owner."_

Under that was a different message written in blue ink, which appeared to have been added more recently:

"_If this is found before I am buried, which I presume that it will in its current place, please leave it with my body. It is not a overly long suicide note. It is simply my journal. I promise that its contents are not at all interesting, yet I retain the request above. Please, as my last wish, do not read past this page out of respect for me. Mom, Dad, James, Cecilia, you may find my note where I left it in the kitchen."_

With no small guilt, Anon slid the book into the back of his waistband. As he covered his secret with his shirt and thermal, his family passed by him and made their way back to their seats. His father led Cecilia and James, presumably, into the first row of pews. His mother, however, deviated toward the coffin. Anon backed away to give her space, but she came to rest mere inches away from him. Those in the congregation whom she faced lowered their gaze; those behind her watched with fearful expressions.

Anon's mother ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the casket, shuddering with grief. Her head downcast, with bitter tears burning holes in the floor, his mother whispered to herself so faintly that only Anon could hear.

"Who did this to you," she breathed, not for the last time. "Who took away my son?"


	14. Chapter 14

_I can't help but believe that we are in hell. Falling though a bottomless pit of darkness; stuck on a crusty blob of magma; and surrounded by debris, balls of fire, and chaos. We are all unhappy for one reason or another, and eventually we disappear forever. We've forgotten where we are, though, and we've grown accustomed to the evil that we live within ever since we've gained control of our corner of hell. But, when we realize that we can unlearn all of the habits and shortcuts that we use to navigate our existence, and perceive reality through a strictly objective lens, we realize how strange of a place the world is. Ferocious beasts room the land, seas, and skies, but now we keep some of them as pets. Creeping tendrils and ragged twists of sharp wood cover the earth, but they no longer hinder us and we use their reproductive organs as food. Even humans, the most unimpressive looking creatures on this earth, are grotesquely biological on the inside. If not for our smooth skin we would look as terrifying as the rest of hell's inhabitants._

It was 3:00 when Troye burst into his room after school with a bewildered expression (complete with wide eyes, messy hair, and pale skin) that he had wore all day. At first, the look came with the social anxiety of benevolent bombardment that Troye wasn't used to. From 10:00 to the end of the school day, however, Troye's fears had become more malignant.

"Fuck-get up-this is awful," Troye said hurriedly, shutting his door. Anon, still lying on Troye's bed, broke from his uneasy reverie. Six empty bottles of Everclear and a half a bottle of mouthwash were scattered around him. Instead of sitting up, Anon simply turned his head towards Troye, who had begun pacing the room in a panic. When he spoke, his words came out in a fevered rush.

"I was in class, okay? And this, this… _thing!_ It—or she—I don't know. She walked right up to my desk in class and started screaming at me." Troye threw his hands above his head, still pacing the room. "It was the most terrifying experience of my life. She was tall, and she was covered in feathers. Fucking feathers, man. And she had these big wings and this frickin tail! And that was made of feathers, too. But this is the worst part, she had this beak. Oh my God I swear it was longer than my arm! And she pointed it right at my face! I thought that she was gonna kill me!" At that thought, Troye put his hands to his face and started to quiver. After a moment, he exhaled to regain his composure.

"I mean you should have seen this thing, dude," Troye said. "It was the single most terrifying experience of my life," he repeated. "And no one tried to help me. Well, how could they? I mean they couldn't see it… But then all through the day people just kept coming up to me to try to talk. And I didn't want to talk to anyone after that. How could I? All I could think about was the frickin monster! And those eyes… I can't even tell you…"

"Are you done?" Anon asked. His eyes were closed again. Troye blinked in disbelief.

"Am I done? What are you talking about? I just had the single-"

"The single most terrifying experience of your life, I know," Anon cut him off. "You don't think I had a rough day, too? You don't think that my experience wasn't the most terrifying fucking thing that I have ever seen?"

Troye was about to ask how anything Anon had seen that day could be scarier than almost getting your heart eaten by a demon, but the he held his tongue when he thought: _Fuck, I forgot about the funeral._ He quickly exhaled a few more times, leveling his hands to bring his emotion down.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Troye said, "But what I'm saying affects the both of us. I really think that you'll want to hear what she said."

"You know what? I don't really care what she said. I don't really give a fuck any more, okay? How's that?" Anon's eyes were still closed, so he didn't see the look of disgust morph onto Troye's face.

"First of all, why are you being such a dick," Troye said, stifling his attempt at compassion. _How can you be so inconsiderate, even after I told you what I've gone through today? _Troye thought that he was going to explode; the heat between the two of them created mounting pressure in the room like gas. Suddenly, Troye scrunched his nose. "Fuck! What reeks in here?"

Anon's eyes snapped open, although he remained supine. "You can smell that?"

Troye covered his nose. "Yeah, it stinks."

Anon was quiet for a few moments. "Sorry, I just ripped one."

Now it was Troye's turn to hesitate. "Well, it smells like Sex Panther," he said humorously.

Anon turned his head towards Troye. Their eyes met, and for a moment they shared an awkward silence. Then, they both started to laugh hysterically.

"On my _bed_, too?" Troye asked, through bouts of giggles.

"Sorry, man, I drank a lot, as you can see." Anon chuckled as he motioned to the bottles on the bed.

"At least your breath doesn't stink," Troye said, acknowledging the half empty bottle of mouthwash.

"True," Anon said. He sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, putting his feet on the floor. He reached back and grabbed the mouthwash, unscrewed the cap, and took a gulp. "Ahhh," he said, after he finished.

Troye made a face. "You're gross." He moved to open his two windows. A cool breeze drifted into the room, and Anon's stink was forgotten.

Anon smiled. "Well, you're stuck with me. So, tell me more about this Big Bird."

Troye laughed again. There was something disarming about a near death experience. Surviving such a life-threatening encounter leaves one more susceptible to intense emotion. This works two ways, though. While one moment may have a man smoldering mad to protect himself, the next could find him joyous in safety once the danger has passed. The boys' encounters with their own mortalities left them vulnerable to such feelings, and they relished their laughter as if it might be their last.

"No, no. Tell me about your day. I was the one who suggested that you go to the… to the funeral. I want to hear about it."

Anon sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "It was okay," he said. "No, I mean, it wasn't okay, but you know what I mean." Troye folded his hands and looked at Anon calmly with his sea blue eyes. Anon looked up at the ceiling. "There were a lot of people there. They all seemed really sad. Especially the family. There were four of them. A brother, a sister, a mom, and a dad. Everyone was crying, but the family hit me the hardest." Anon looked back into Troye's eyes. He found them comforting.

Troye, however, averted his gaze. He hadn't ever had an experience talking about death before. While he usually pictured these conversations as profoundly sad, he found himself at this moment feeling strangely awkward.

"Well, yeah, that's normal, right? I mean, it's your family."

"That's the thing. I didn't feel like they were my family. I didn't have any connection to them, really, since I don't have any personal memories from when I was alive. Or, I mean, when I was Ross. But either way, I felt—I dunno. Guilty. I had this profound sense of guilt. Like, what's the most guilty you've ever felt before?"

Troye thought back to when he had taken a Chemistry final the year before. He failed the test, and ended up having to retake the class. Confronting his parents with his failing grade had made him miserable. His stomach turned into a pit that seemed like it was expanding and contracting at the same time. An unseen weight weight crushing his arms and shoulders. The worst part of it was that he felt naked when his shame was bared, like Adam when he sinfully stood before God's judgment.

"Well, it was worse than that, I think," Anon replied. "I knew that I had done something that hurt a lot of people in ways that I will never fully understand. And even worse, I knew that I could never take it back. That kid in the casket… it was permanent. He's always going to be there, and his friends and family are always going to feel this hurt, this emptiness. I don't even feel bad for doing it to myself. I feel bad for how it made everyone else feel. And it's all my fault." He stared Troye right in the eyes, and said earnestly, "I swear I will never do anything like that again."

Troye wracked his brain for something comforting to say, but he couldn't think of anything without worrying that he would hurt Anon's feelings.

"But enough about me. I don't really want to talk about it anymore. What happened with this other familiar?"

"Come on, we aren't done talking about you yet."

"I said I don't want to talk about the funeral anymore. And besides, what happened to you affects both of us. I'm the one who's going to have to fight her."

"You have a point," Troye said. "Okay, here goes." He took a deep breath and replayed the day's events in his mind.

The woman had burst through the door, waving her wings in a grand entrance. She strutted up to Troye's desk and flaunted her wings and tail. Then, when she was sure that Troye was thoroughly impressed by her majesty (although horrified was more appropriate) she began to deliver her decree. The woman tilted back her head and raised her two-foot beak in the air like a trumpet. With the aplomb of a royal announcer, the familiar declared her demands.

"She said that you two are to fight at high noon this Friday," Troye said nervously. He was shaken after telling Anon about the familiar's entrance.

"She said 'high noon?' Does she think she's a cowboy or something?"

"From the way she presented herself you would think she was the sheriff. But that's what she said. She set the time and date like it was some kind of sporting event."

"Well fuck that," Anon said. "Why should she get to pick the time?"

"Hey, at least she was up front about it," Troye said. "It's better than getting ambushed, right?"

"I guess so," Anon said. He remembered the surprise attack of his first foe. "Did she specify a place for this fight?"

Troye thought back to what the woman had said. "Oh yeah, I forgot. She said she wants to fight in the parking lot at my school."

Anon snorted. "The parking lot? Fuck cowboys, now she sounds like a high school bully."

"How can you be so cavalier about this? This–monster-wants to fight to the death, and you're making jokes about it."

Anon shrugged. "I dunno. I'm just not scared. And if you haven't noticed, I'm a monster, too." Anon bared his sharp teeth in a broad smile. "I can take her."

"No, you don't understand," Troye said, wiping sweat from his paling forehead. "You still look human. She was like a literal monster. I told you about her beak and the feathers and the wings… and… oh…" Troye trailed off, too nervous to continue.

"Don't worry about it, Troye. I can take her. I beat that last guy, right?"

"But we just got lucky last time," Troye blustered. "You said that your whole chest was ripped out. If Bob didn't knock out his human, I bet you would have died."

Anon scowled. "I wouldn't have died. I had that guy right where I wanted him." He cast his gaze aside. "But you're right. We need to have a plan. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Troye said. He fanned himself with his hands. "I'll talk to Fix and see what he thinks." The boys' informant attempted to shed some light on the situation.

?-?-?: I believe that this familiar is a Pride based on your description. Pride is a unique type. Based on my research, Prides' strength is highly influenced by the tide of battle. If she finds herself losing, she will ultimately give up fairly quickly. However, if she perceives herself to be winning, she will gain power.

Troyesivan18: So what do you suggest we do

?-?-?: This familiar sounds very advanced and developed, and she has probably already defeated several others. Since Ross has only absorbed one other familiar, this fight should be tough. However, I have located a weak familiar that Ross can fight in the meantime to prepare.

Troye excitedly showed Anon the phone. "See this? Fix said that this girl is gonna be hard to fight, but you can get stronger beforehand."

"I know how to read," Anon said. Troye was dismayed to see that Anon's mirth had been short lived and his hostility was creeping back. "And my name isn't Ross. I'm not him, and he's dead."

"Okay, okay," Troye said, putting his hands up in defense.

Troyesivan18: So where is this familiar

?-?-?: I can send you the address and the instructions about how to get there.

Troyesivan18: Thanks. Is there anything that Anon should know about this guy

Fix took a little longer to answer than usual.

?-?-?: I believe that this familiar is a Sloth. Since he and his human never leave their house, they have never had to fight before. This means that Ross should have an advantage. He will go at night when the human is sleeping.

Troyesivan18: But you said that the human's behaviors affected their familiar's strengths so if a sloths human was sleeping wouldnt that make it more powerful?

?-?-?: Very perceptive, Troye. You pick this up fast. But don't worry. My intel leads me to believe that this fight should not be an issue.

Troyesivan18: Ok I believe you but if you don't mind me asking where do you get this information

?-?-?: I'm sorry, but I do mind. I cannot disclose that at this time, but perhaps if we keep working together you may find out my methods in the future. I will send you the address, entrance route, and blueprint of the apartment. Send a message when the familiar is defeated.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_Is it any small wonder the self-contempt that I feel, as I sit in this closet lined with perverted, distorted mirrors? Alone, within this confine, there is nothing to examine but the wretched creatures that surround me. To my left, the twisted, ugly shapelessness of the hunchback, who constantly thirsts for men that cringe at the mere thought of holding his hand and would rather vomit than press their lips unto his. To my right, the despicable wonton who lusts for ecstasy, allowing his grotesque shame to spill forth whilst wearing a greasy smile meant to disarm but that only manages to simultaneously terrify or invoke pity. Behind me, the contorted blue face and protruding eyeballs of a panting figure wracked with pain, who tries to bear an unseen weight in a panicked struggle like a rat caught under an unyielding boot. And in front of me, a pallid visage that somehow expresses immense and ghastly horror, though the milky portals to his soul have rolled back and he has no mouth with which to twist into terrible frown or visceral scream._

_ And yet if I ever find the courage or gall to venture from these enclosing walls, and escape the disturbing funhouse mirrors within, ironically then I may become a clown for the people of the world therein: An insult for children to hurl; a man who turned to men simply because he "couldn't find a girl;" a joke for straight people to call one another; a father's disgrace of a boy who took too closely after his mother; all of these things burning fags like cigarettes or a bundle of sticks. And if I leave the closet I may never know if it was done in a Universal righteousness, no matter the satisfaction I may find outside: for as others mock me, despite my pride, where does the Truth lie? Will I, in my self-acceptance, become the village idiot? scrubbing stables perfectly content in the shit while ignorant to the others' legitimate contempt to my disgrace and my blindness thereof? Or will I be more like Martin Luther King, Jr., ostracized by a nation for holding belief in a Truth of which the others were ignorant? As a self-perceived rational and degree-proven educated young man I must realize that it is more likely for the One to be in the wrong against the Masses than for the majority to be blind. Thus here I remain, my twisted fingers casting snapping dogs onto Plato's cave wall._

Late that Tuesday night, Troye smiled as he turned off the notifications on his phone. His Twitter mentions made his cell vibrate so hard that the device seemed apt to break. _That should be enough questions for my Q and A. _He looked over at Anon, who was leaning against Troye's bedroom door.

"What are you so happy about?" Anon asked. He scowled, and a dark cloud seemed to hang over his head.

Troye's smile dissipated. "Why are you mad at _me_? I purposely set up this Q and A so that my fans would be paying extra attention to me tonight. This way, you'll have that much more strength while you fight this Sloth."

Anon make an exaggerated frown, waved his hands on either side of his face, and mocked him, saying, "Oh, you're so smart Troye. How ever will I thank you?"

"You know what Fix said. You and me are linked. When I get attention, you get stronger."

Anon ceased his mockery, replacing his fake frown with a sneer. "Just don't act so smug about it. Don't you forget: without me, you wouldn't even be famous in the first place."

Troye furrowed his brow. "You know what? Why don't you just leave, if you're going to be such an asshole to me."

"Fine! That's all I'm good for anyway, right? Fighting your battles for you, putting my life on the line. And you don't even care, do you?"

Troye's face reddened as he tried to push back the tears he felt welling up behind his eyes. "I just thought that I would help," he said.

"Whatever," Anon said. "Make your little video. Just remember what it could cost me." With that, Anon left the room and slammed the door behind him.

Left alone, Troye sniffed back his tears. _Why does he have to be so mean? What did I do to him?_

Troye stared at his wall. Anon was just envious that Troye's position in their equation was to become a celebrity, while the familiar had to risk his life. But Troye wouldn't be able to fight the way that Anon did, and Anon wouldn't even appear on camera if he had tired. Things _had_ to be this way. That's the only way it would work. Troye tried his best to repress the thoughts of Anon, tried to wrinkle over the parts of his brain that thought of him. There was no time to think of anything else, other than the very important a video that had to be recorded. The camera was set, the lighting was perfect, and the questions were in. Troye flipped the switch on his camera and saw himself in a little box on his computer screen.

"Oh no," Troye said to himself. Red, puffy eyes would not be appropriate for a lighthearted video. His audience would see through his phony joviality, too, after Anon's harassment. If he shot a video when he felt this depressed, his audience would get depressed while watching it. No, he would have to wait a bit until he calmed down to create his newest installment.

Troye decided to do what he always did when he was feeling down. He clicked on his browser to visit Tyler Oakley's Tumblr page. He scoffed, though, when he found what Anon had left on Chrome. "Slutty Ho Gets Split In Half By Massive-"

Troye clicked away from the porn video that put him in an even fouler mood. Sure, Anon was a Lust, but his usage of pornography was disgusting. The other day, Troye accidently saw a frame of fetish porn that Anon had found somewhere in the darkest, most depraved hole of the web. _That would have scarred a rapist serial killer._ Troye, again, tired to physically mold his brain over the thought. He proceeded to his favorite corner of the Internet.

Tyler stared back at Troye from behind his black frames. The blue haired boy smiled in his familiar half smirk that Troye was so fond of. It made him seem mysterious, yet inviting. It made him look like he was harboring a fun secret, a code to a private game, and Troye would only have to play along to find out what it was. Troye longed to hear what Tyler would say to him if they met in real life. He often fantasized about the moment.

They would meet in a coffee shop. Tyler would be standing in line in front of Troye. Troye would want to say something to this cute boy, but he wouldn't know what to say. Then, when Tyler ordered his coffee, he would casually glance back and ask Troye what he would like. Troye would tremble and be left speechless. Tyler would simply chuckle and order Troye the same thing that he ordered for himself, then ask Troye to sit with him. They would talk for hours, complimenting each other, and teasing each other's mouths by leaning in for kisses that never met…

Troye blinked suddenly. His eyes felt as if they were burning after inadvertently staring at the screen for so long.

_ I told myself that it was no use thinking about celebrities in that way. I'll never be with them, so there is no point in giving myself so much false hope. I'll just get hurt when it finally sinks in that I will never get to date him._

The inevitability of their marriage was rooting deep within him. Even with the nearly impossible probability, Troye held on to that hope like a child who clutches the string of a helium balloon.

Tyler wasn't like other celebrities who only appeared on TV and in movies, never really communicating with their fans. Tyler's brand of YouTube celebrity offered much more intimacy. It seemed as if Tyler created his videos specifically for Troye. They sat down with each every week and hold conversations about pertinent issues that Troye would coincidentally be dealing with, such as problems with straight boys, the newest fashion trends, or what happened on America's Next Top Model. Tyler sent Troye pictures of his face, his hair, what he was eating or what he was watching, as well as messages about his mood and his opinions, and even interesting pictures or videos that he found online.

As far as Troye was concerned, he and Tyler shared a close friendship. Tragically, this was one friend that he may never meet in person, and a friend that he could only listen to, only watch, never interact with. Troye's heart ached at the thought that he could never be with someone whom he felt he knew so well.

_Remember, you don't know the real him. Only the persona that he created for the public._

_ But I could get to know the real him. If only we met…_

As he was wont to do, Troye covered Tyler's page with his instant messaging app after several minutes of deliberation. The visits always gave Troye mixed feelings. Sure, seeing his crush's face again and hearing new things that had been going on in his life filled Troye with joy. But at the same time, he felt the pain of an outsider who watches someone from afar but can never reach them. Troye went through periods where he shunned this shining star, whom he admired from so far away (_so that's why they're called stars), _but he always relapsed into his addiction. The only cure from the tears was talking to his real friends, to distract him from the one who he only wished that he had.

Luckily, Blessing and Connor were both online. As soon as Troye signed into his Messenger, he was invited to their group chat. The window popped up where Blessing and Connor's usernames were waiting. Tyler's face peeked at him from behind the text box.

Bless_you: Troye good thing you're on I was about to text you.

Blessing answered the chat a mere moment after Troye had sent his message, meaning that he had already been eager to share some news.

Troyesivan18: Hey bless hey connor whats going on?

Bless_you: Troye connor has something that he wants to tell you

Connie_frannie: Bless do you have to be so up front about it? D:

Troye could imagine the look on Connor's face signified by the emoticon.

Bless_you: Why the sad face? This is good news!

Troyesivan18: What is it?

Connie_frannie: I know but I'm nervous.

Bless_you: Don't be nervious we are all your friends

Troyesivan18: What is it?

Connie_frannie: I know but this is nerve wracking and you know how I get

Bless_you: Okay but you know that Troye is gonna be here for you and I am already here.

Troyesivan18: lksajdfhlkjdhf GUYS

Troyesivan18: What is it?

Bless_you: JEEZ connor tell him.

Connie_frannie: Ok

Connie_frannie: Troye, I've been keeping this a secret for a long time. But I finally need to tell you

While Troye was in the closet, he misunderstood people a lot. When someone harbors a secret that consumes their thoughts day in and day out, they might begin to believe that others are holding secrets, too. If someone is in the closet for a long enough time, they may begin to think that everyone else that they meet is also in the closet. Like a raw nerve, the topic of homosexuality is in the forefront of a closeted person's mind, especially during conversation. So, whenever someone told a secret to a closeted Troye, he would always hope that they would come out to him. That way, the two could share their secret together. A secret kept by one person gnaws away at their insides, starting at the corner of their mind and working its way in, but a secret shared between two acts as a glue to strengthen those friends' bonds. Thus, Troye would always want his secret to transform from a corrosive to a cohesive whenever the topic of secret subjects emerged.

Now that Troye was out of the closet, however, he did not think about his sexuality as much. He was no longer required to "maintain" it, so to speak. Someone in the closet tends to keep thinking about his sexuality, less it escape him, as if it were a balloon tied to a string liable to float away forever at the slightest neglect. Another reason sexuality is so salient in a closeted person's mind is that they frequently project opinions of it onto everyone that they meet, an exhausting and alienating practice that only serves in exacerbating the man's own worries about himself.

Anyway, now that Troye was out of the closet, he no longer jumped to the conclusion that every secret would involve coming out. So, Connor's message thoroughly surprised him.

Connie_frannie: Troye, I've already told Blessing this, but I am gay.

A year earlier, Blessing sat him down after school and confessed the secret that he had been keeping his entire life. He might as well have told Troye that he, too, was hiding Jews in his attic. Troye felt relief and joy when he heard that he wasn't alone; but he also felt fear, that someone might hear, or that he had misheard, and that one of his best friends was experiencing the same tribulations as he was. Troye and Blessing's hearts connected in only the way that two closeted boys can connect: Not sexually, but in a bond of those who share the same secret.

Connor's confession had a completely different effect on Troye. Instead of a mutual confider, Troye felt like an authority on the subject receiving a request for advice from a novice. Troye had experiences of coming out of the closet, and he knew that it felt good. Coming out was one of the best things that he had ever done, even though sometimes it came with pain. Connor, unfamiliar with the process, was still afraid. But he wasn't sharing his secret with someone else in the closet: he wasn't asking directions for someone who was also lost in the labyrinth. Connor came out to two people who had already navigated the maze, and now he had two guides to help him.

Troye was speechless for a moment, but quickly typed in a response so that Connor wouldn't feel awkward in the silence.

Troyesivan18: OMG Connor! That is so awesome! I had no idea!

Connie_frannie: Thanks for understanding t

Bless_you: Really? You didn't know?

Troyesivan18: Of course I would understand connor I'm also gay in case you forgot why would I not understand

Connie_frannie: I don't know its just that I was really nervous to come out and I didn't know what was going to happen after I did I should have known that there was no problem coming out to you

Troyesivan18: we are your best friends you know that and we will always be there for you

Bless_you: you mean u really didn't know?

As a newly appointed liaison for Connor between the closet and the real world, Troye proposed that he should ask some questions to Connor to find out how he was feeling. He was online, after all, and emotions could not be perceived through facial expressions or body language. When Troye had come out to his father, there was a lot of hugging and crying, signifying acceptance, relief, and happiness. Online, though, there were only words, so Troye had to get as much words as he could out of his friend.

Troyesivan18: how long have you known that you were gay?

Connie_frannie: I don't know as long as I can remember it might have been since I was like 10 maybe

Troyesivan18: Yeah I was the same way

Bless_you: me too

Connie_frannie: I feel like Ive been holding on to this secret forever its been eating me up inside

Troyesivan18: I felt the same way I had to come out to may dad last year because I just couldn't lie anymore

Blessing did not have a similar predicament, because he did not hold on to his lie for very long. He had come out to his parents right away once he realized that that was the way he felt.

Troyesivan18: is that why you decided to come out? You couldn't hold on to the lie anymore?

Connor took a while to answer.

Connie_frannie: I just hated having to look over my shoulder all of the time to make sure I didn't do anything that could be perceived as gay, to accidentally out myself. I hated having to act as masculine as I possibly could in order to hide the fact that I am gay and I couldn't admit that I thought that Justin beiber and the guys in One Direction are attractive. I hated leading girls on as a cover. Remember Jess a while back? She was really sad when I broke up with her for no reason. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I was gay so I just broke off communication from her. I know that she blames herself. I really hate being a liar and feeling disgusted with myself all of the time never knowing if what I feel is right. I just hated being in the closet.

Troyesivan18: wow that's a lot. Im sure that it feels the same way to a lot of guys who don't come out.

Bless_you: yeah, it must be really tough to hold on to a secret for that long to always be scared of being found out

Troyesivan18: its really a bad secret to hold especially when it turns out to be no big deal when you come out

Bless_you: actually this is really weird but I read that a lot of guys in the closet end up going bald because they are so stressed out all of the time

Troyesivan18: idk if that's true bless

Bless_you: I read it online…

Connie_frannie: thanks for cheering me up guys good thing I came out in time or I wouldn't have all of these luscious locks lolol

Troyesivan18: THANK GOD you have beautiful hair connie

Connie_frannie: but then anyway that all piled up in my mind all day every day 24/7 and all I could think about was how much I hated being in the closet and how much I wanted to come out but I never could do it it was always on the tip of my tongue but I could never get the chance to say it

Troyesivan18: sometimes it feels easier to say nothing but it is so much better to be active and just say it

Connie_frannie: but then when I was driving to the supermarket for my parents this afternoon I got stuck behind this car on Freidman Road you know the one with all the trees? So I was on this road behind all of the cars, and their back window was really reflective in the darkness of the trees and there was this shape in the window but I couldn't tell what it was. And then we got out of the trees and the light shone through the back window and I saw all of these balloons in the back seat and they were all jostling around each other pressing up onto the roof of the car and the back window and I just stared at them for so long because they reminded me of little kids heads trying to get a better look out the window or like puppy dogs in a cage trying to get closer to someone who might pet them. And I stared at it for so long that when we got to a red light I wasn't paying attention and almost crashed into it

There was a pause in the conversation until Blessing answered:

Bless_yuo: that's really cool and all but wtf does that mean ahah

Troyesivan18: come on bless that is a beautiful moment its really symbolic

Connie_frannie: I know it sounds cheesy but it literally happened to me like I am not even lying at all it happened for real today and it totally affected my decision

Troyesivan18: well I'm glad that you finally get to live truthfully. Trust me it feels really good

Connie_frannie: thanks troye boy

Troyesivan18: You're welcome connie

Bless_you: guys guys I'm sooooo happy. Now we have a big gay trio!

Troyesivan18: now all we have to do is wait for Sheist to come out

Connie_frannie: oh god no pleeeease I don't want him to ruin this great community that I have just entered

Bless_you: nooooooooo

Troyesivan18: its fine guys I was just jokin arounddd

Suddenly, Blessing sent a private chat to Troye. When a group chat was going on, an unaffiliated private chat was the equivalent of a whisper or a passed note completely invisible to the other conversationalists.

Troyesivan18: whats up bless?

Bless_you: Troye

Bless_you: how excited are you that Connor came out?

Connie_frannie: guys seriously just thanks for making me feel good about this.

Troyesivan18: im really excited about it. I mean that's awesome.

Bless_you: and you really didn't know about it before? Please don't ignore my question this time.

Troyesivan18: I really didn't know why

Bless_you: I mean he was really hushed up about it but sometimes it showed through the cracks if you know what I mean

Bless_you: I mean he was dropping massive hints to you all the time

Troyesivan18: really?

Connie_frannie: I mean it just feels so good to finally get rid of that secret

Bless_you: yeah he told me not to tell you but I think you should know. The reason that he was so nervous to come out to you was that he has a massive crush on you.

Troye involuntarily gasped, and his heart skipped a beat. He saw his face go red in the recording window that was still open on his desktop. Tyler Oakley's face still stared longingly from behind the chat box. Troye didn't know how to answer Blessing.

Bless_you: Isn't this good news? Don't you like him?

Troye _did_ like Connor, but his feelings were complicated by friendship and Connor's previous ostensibly incompatible sexual orientation. When he had first met Connor, Troye experienced intense feelings of infatuation for him. However, after a while, he tried his hardest to suppress those feelings since he would never have a chance to date a straight person. Years of suppression stomped flat the fields of Troye's attraction to Connor, although a few sprouts still clung to life amid the trampled debris. Long ago, Troye would have jumped at the chance to be with Connor. Now, though, his attraction had gone stale. And, with Troye's growing popularity online and the possibility of Anon bringing him into the arms of Tyler Oakley, Troye did not know whether or not he even _could_ connect in such an intimate way to one of his best friends.

Troye had evidently been taking a long time to answer, so Blessing sent a message to lessen any possible tension.

Bless_you: its fine if you don't like him I wont tell him that I told you anything you know its really fine

Troyesivan18: I just need some time to think about it connor is one of my best friends and I don't know if I can break a friendship to be with him like that

Bless_you: well you wont be breaking a friendship wouldn't you be strengthening it by taking it to the next step

Troyesivan18: but like what if it doesn't work out then what it would ruin our friendship

Bless_you: that's the worst case scenario why are you being so pessimistic

Troyesivan18: bless why are you pushing this so much just give me some time to think about it

Bless_you: well you don't want to break his heart

Troyesivan18: what about my heart? This is just so complicated

Bless_you: idk whats wrong with you the other day you said that you wish that connor was gay

Troyesivan18: that was hypothetical it doesn't mean anything when yous ay stuff while shooting the breeze

Bless_you: well you shouldn't say stuff like that when the kid came out for you

Troyesivan18: he came out for me?

Bless_you: yeah he really likes you and he came out to be with you

Troyesivan18: that's putting a lot of pressure on me you know you cant just do stuff like that like choosing what you want other people to do

Bless_you: hey it wasn't me who did it

Troyesivan18: but you didn't have to tell me about it

Connie_frannie: hey are you guys haven't answered in a while

Bless_you: but isn't it better to know?

Troyesivan18: no because now I am no longer innocent in the situation.

Connie_frannie: hey are you guys in another chat?

Bless_you: but now you have all of the information to act in the best way

Troyesivan18: but I don't know the best way to act

Connie_frannie: omg you guys are in a side chat

Troyesivan18: sorry connor I was editing

Connie_frannie: oh ok are you sure

Troyesivan18: yeah and I should probably get back to it I want to have this out by tomorrow

Troyesivan18: but thanks for coming out it really means a lot to me and bless and you know that we will be there for you

Connie_frannie: thanks troye I know

Troyesivan18: okay I g2g but ill see you tomorrow babe

Connie_frannie: yupp ill see you tomorrow ;)

Troye gazed back Tyler's full face once he closed his chat tabs. His idol seemed so calm, so secure.

Troye put his face into his hands.

_Babe… why did I have to call him babe… I never call him babe._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

_I used to think that God came to Earth in human form so that He would know what it was like to be human. After all, He would probably be confused as to why humans are so evil and disobedient, since God is so perfect and unlike us. However, I have come to a different understanding. God must have grown to hate humans, who He thought was His greatest creation. He made us in His image, and we showed Him that that image was evil. When He realized that a "perfect" creator who creates an imperfect self-portrait is therefore Himself imperfect, He judged that He couldn't live anymore. Since He is immortal, the only way to do this was to first become human. Then, He tried to give us a parting gift of knowledge and we crucified him for it. The worst part is that even though He resolved to die, we didn't _have_ to kill Him. What an ironic end, that the beings that He gave life took life from Him. If His own creation brought about His end, does that mean that He killed Himself?_

Anon arrived under the cover of darkness. Breaking into the Sloth's apartment wasn't difficult the second time around. The first time, though, Anon fell as he attempted to scale the building to the third floor. A spiked fence broke his fall, and Anon was left to climb the wall again with only slight impalement damage to his left glute.

When he reached his target's window, Anon used a tool that Fix had prescribed. Luckily, Troye's father kept the same item in his garage. The tool hooked under the top of the frame, and Anon undid the lock with a twist. He could have easily smashed the window, but Fix had warned against waking a sleeping Sloth.

_What kind of beast will this thing will be? An actual sloth? No, that's too obvious. A sleeping bear? I wouldn't want to wake that thing up. _

The apartment was pitch black, but Anon was able to see well in the dark ever since he had eaten the heart of his first familiar. Anon shivered at the thought. He suddenly regretted his duty as a familiar. In the heat of the moment, Anon had no qualms about devouring the heart of his enemy. Now, though, the mere thought of the action made him nauseous. Of course, he would do anything for Troye. Anon could never say no to that pretty face. Any words that came from those soft lips were his commands. Anon felt bad for yelling at Troye earlier, but he had just felt so neglected. It's as if Troye only cared about Tyler Oakly, and not the person who was standing in front of him.

_ Not that Troye even counts me as a person anyway…_

Either way, this enemy had to be defeated. Anon wished that he could simply do his duty instead of contemplating what it all might mean. Unfortunately, he brooded over his life—if you could call it that—after his funeral.

_No. After _Ross's _funeral._

Before that, Anon had felt invincible. Afterward, though, Anon could sense his mortality like a raw nerve. His obsession with his humanity stemmed from seeing his own decrepit, bloated carcass. That, and reading the book that it had left behind. Anon had only read a few pages of Ross's journal before having to put it down. _That kid must have had a seriously fucked up mind if that is the kind of journal he kept. No wonder he killed himself. _Even if the words on the pages weren't unsavory, the putrid smell of the pages themselves would have made Anon close the covers. The rancid smell of death and decomposition had become infused in the book from its time in the noxious coffin. Each foul page stung Anon's nostrils when he tried to read them. There was no way to wash out the stink, either, as treating it with any sort of cleaning supplies would ruin the paper and ink.

As much as Anon detested the tainted tome, he was resolved to read it. Even though he didn't fully admit it to himself, Anon wanted to know more about the person whose death had created him. He wanted to keep the book a secret, though. One reason for this was to honor Ross's request for secrecy on the first page. The page asked that no one read the rest of the journal. After much consideration, Anon decided that it was fine for him to read since it belonged to his former body. Keeping it from Troye was hard, though, because of the stench. Anon was able to blame it on flatulence the first time, but it would be impossible to hide the book from humans in the house. Anon opted to bury the book in the back yard like a dog with a bone. He stole a small chest from Troye's mother to keep the book from incurring any damage underground. There, the stink couldn't be detected and the chances of anyone stumbling onto it were slim.

Anon didn't know if familiars could become depressed or not, but he was in a bad mood ever since finding that book. He drank more Everclear that day than he had in the entire week before, and he had snapped at Troye earlier. While Anon was regretful about being so harsh, his austerity wasn't totally unwarrented. After all, Anon was breaking into a third story apartment to fight a demon while Troye was at home tweeting. _I guess I really got the shit end of the stick in this deal, huh._

As crawled through the window, pushed all thoughts from his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand. Distraction might cost him his life.

He found himself in the kitchen. The room was enveloped in darkness, but a dim strip of light shone from under a doorway to immediately in front of Anon. The kitchen was small, with only a shoulder's width between the appliances lining either side of the room. A refrigerator with bare, stark white doors stood next to a cluttered sink. Dishes, silverware, and glasses were piled into the sink, all of them covered with stains. On the other wall was a microwave with a forgotten cup of instant soup inside; empty cupboards surrounded it.

Anon crept to the door and put his ear to the wood. On top of Anon's improved eyesight, his hearing had been dramatically enhanced as well. The familiar could clearly hear voices from the other side of the door. He silently cursed Fix for giving him a bad time to sneak in. Then, he heard a tune that he recognized. Anon slowly pushed the door open and stepped the living room.

The first thing that Anon noticed was the massive television that stood at the front of the room facing the kitchen. The large screen was displaying some variation of the Real Housewives or something. Anon had known that the voices wouldn't hear him when he noticed that they came from a show that Troye and his mother sometimes watched. Anon hated reality TV, but this time he was glad to see that the room was otherwise unoccupied. A bewildered looking man was being interviewed on the show.

"You know these 'reality' programs are poison, right? All of this bickering, gossiping, and bi*ching makes people think that they want drama in their lives. My wife starts petty quarrels with me all of the time because she sees it on your show."

In the center of the room, facing away from the kitchen, sat a recliner that matched the TV in mass. Anon snooped behind it and peered over the headrest. The cushy chair was filled by an equally cushy woman, snoring softly. Her greasy tank top, stained with cheedle and various sauces, heaved as each ragged breath squeezed out of her jowled mouth. Anon felt his chest tighten with anxiety. He didn't want to wake this leviathan from her apparent food coma.

_Ugh. If that behemoth is the human, I hate to think what her familiar looks like. _Anon carefully inspected the woman's mouth for a set of tusks, just to make sure. All he found was a sparse set of yellowed—albeit otherwise normal—teeth. _That would be too easy, huh. Well, lets find this hibernating beast, then. _

"The fact that you guys are letting me say this on your show either tells me that you guys are really ballsy or really fu*king stupid." The bleep that the show used was brief enough that the entirety of the word could basically be heard.

Anon prowled back around behind the chair and surveyed the room. A small side table stood to the left of the recliner, holding a laptop. Its charger ran from the table to the wall about 6 feet away. Discarded pizza boxes and Chinese food cartons took up a lot of the space in between. The area to the other side of the recliner was much more interesting.

A heap of papers and envelopes were piled by the door on right side. Anon noticed that the door was the main entrance to the apartment, judging by the mail slot. Out of curiosity, Anon investigated some of the papers. Many of unopened envelopes were spam mail, but dozens more were checks and prizes. Publisher's Clearing House, Penny Auction, , and more were stamped onto checks that ranged in worth from $1,000 to $15,000. A large cardboard check, worth $13,000 was propped up against the wall next to the door. Estimating only from the already opened checks, Anon guessed that there was around $500,000 in prize money.

_Maybe that's what her familiar does for her. Keeps winning her money so that she can sit on her ass and order pizza._

Aside from the kitchen, the only other way to go was through a dark hallway to the right of the TV. Anon skulked through the corridor.

Three doors were in the hall. Anon opened the first one, closest to the living room.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Anon found himself in a small bathroom with a sink, a toilet, and a tub. The shower curtain was drawn, and small splashes sounded from behind it. Anon bared his teeth, then slowly peeked behind the curtain. He was expecting to discover some kind of whale or snapping turtle resting in the water. All he found, though, was an empty tub with a pink ring around it. The rusty faucet dripped droplets of water into the dirty puddle around the clogged drain. Anon snuck back into the hall and closed the door.

The next room appeared to be the master bedroom. Although this room was almost pitch black, Anon could see relatively well. Baggy clothes covered the floor like hay in a stable. The bed was disheveled, although it didn't look like anyone had slept there for a while: clothes and delivery boxes were piled on top of the mattress. A yellow smiley face, printed on a bib, suffocated from under a heap of dark clothing. Anon made his way to the dresser, which stood at about waist height. Leaning on the wall was a slightly concave mirror that gave Anon a slimmer appearance. A framed picture sat atop the dresser, too. In it, the beastly woman wore a wedding gown. The flab of her arm draped around an equally obese man who wore a suit. They both smiled weakly. Anon only glimpsed at the picture for a moment. He turned around to resume his search for the familiar. There was a closed closet in the room, and Anon slunk over it.

_Looks like a good spot for a lazy lion to make its den, no?_

Anon grabbed the door with his left hand. He crouched, bared his teeth, and readied his right claw to swipe at whatever might pounce from inside. When he opened the closet, though, he only found more women's clothes hanging from the railing. Anon sighed his relief and shut the door. That only left one room to check. His prey must be inside.

Anon crept towards the final room. When he was back in the hallway, edging toward the door that must contain his enemy, he heard a snort from the living room.

Anon froze. He prayed that he didn't disturb the Sloth. It was the one thing that Fix had warned him against.

He stalked through the hall and peeked his head into the living room. The blob on the chair shifted a little, let loose a fart, and nestled its head back within its bosom like a gelatinous turtle. Anon narrowed his eyes and turned back towards the final room.

Anon placed his ear against the door, listening for any snoring that might come from a hibernating bear. Instead, he heard the muffled sound of white noise.

_Well, it's now or never._

Anon gritted his teeth. His last assailant had caught him off guard, but this time Anon was the one with the element of surprise. It felt good to be on the opposite end of the veil of ignorance. He mustn't let his advantage go to waste, though. He needed to pounce with all of his force and end the fight before his enemy even knew what was happening.

_He's probably asleep. That's probably why Fix said this fight would be easy. Either way, I need to keep my guard all the way up. _

Anon turned the knob, opened the door just wide enough, and slipped silently into the room.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the black. The room's soft white walls were painted with light blue trim. Yellow ducks with smiley faces formed a ring around the ceiling. The room was bare, apart from one piece of furniture. In the middle of the room stood an empty, stark white crib with a light blue skirt dusting the floor.

Still in posed to attack, Anon crouched and surveyed the room again. He saw no other places for an enemy to hide. There was no closet, no window, and no hatch doors anywhere. Only the crib took presence in the room.

Anon checked the inside of the crib. The only thing resting inside was a blue and white striped pillow. Anon scratched his chin with a long nail. He considered whether he should leave the room, but then decided to peek underneath the crib. It was so low to the ground, he doubted that anything worth fighting would be hiding within the confines of the skirt. Yet, he backed away from it and lay prone (after checking his surroundings again for any danger) and strained his eye towards the small cave.

_I swear if I get attacked while I'm face down ass up peeking under this thing…_

While there didn't appear to be any life underneath the crib, there was a dark shape that Anon couldn't fully identify. The shape was perfectly still, though, so he didn't think that it was alive. It looked more like a box than a sleeping familiar.

Anon crawled towards the crib on his hands and knees. Tentatively, with more fear than curiosity, he lifted the skirt, half expecting something to jump out at him. Instead, he discovered the hidden container.

Anon reached under the crib, gripped the object, and extracted a metal safe with a mottled surface that was cool to the touch. On its back, with the door on top, the safe was about two feet tall, three feet wide, and three feet long. "Arthur's 'Unbreakable' Firearm Storage" was printed in typical Wild Western script on the door. A thick black dial protruded from the left side of the door, and the opening handle stuck out underneath it.

_What does this fatty need a gun for?_

Anon lifted the safe with ease and slowly inspected its sides. The bottom of the safe read, "Impenetrable. Steel Alloy. Empty Weight: 150 pounds."

Anon laughed to himself. In his hands, the safe felt like 5 pounds. He considered trying to spin it on his finger like a basketball, but thought better of it.

Also on the underside were directions to open the unit:

1: Spin dial to the right five (5) times

2: Turn dial to the right to the first number

3: Turn the dial to the left, passing the first number once, until you reach the second number.

4: Turn dial to the right directly to the third number.

_I wonder what's inside anyway…_

Anon idly spun the dial around, following the directions but landing on random numbers. When he was done, he gripped the handle.

_How funny would it be if I actually got the code right._

Anon wrenched the handle. It splintered away from the safe, leaving a gaping hole in the door.

"Holy fuck," Anon hissed. He looked around in fear hoping that he didn't wake the giant in the other room. Then, his whole body locked up. The gears in his head came to a grinding halt, and it was impossible for him to think of any plan of escape. He sat, petrified, for a full minute. When no one else came into the room, and he was sure that the behemoth was still in her chair, he sighed his relief.

Anon looked down at what he had done. The door sat lamely on its hinges, with a jagged hole where the handle used to be. Anon suddenly noticed that his whitened hand was still tightly wrapped around the handle. His fingers creaked when he straightened them out and dropped the now useless piece of metal on the floor. Soft bubbling sounds started to drift from within the hole. Anon didn't have a clue where the noises came from, but he guessed it came from the rending hot metal being torn apart.

Anon dipped two of his fingers into the hole and gently pulled open the door.

When he saw what was inside, he whispered, "Holy fuck," this time with awe instead of fear. Gingerly, he produced from the safe the most magnificent object that he had ever seen. Anon held a florescent pink conch shell, the size of a basketball, that seemed to glow in the darkness. It twisted into a point like a unicorn's horn. Brilliant spindles jutted from the shell in rings like the points of a crown. The shell was as smooth as the surface of a rainbow. At the bottom, the brilliant shell flared out, leaving an opening underneath.

Anon turned over the beautiful shell to examine the bottom. He couldn't see inside, because the opening was blocked by the smooth gray foot of the creature within. Anon didn't realize what he was holding, so he poked at the foot. He was startled to see that the hard surface retracted when he prodded it. Curiously, he kept poking the foot until it suddenly regressed into the shell with a slurp. With the inside exposed, the fleshy pink body of the inhabitant was visible. With more bubbling sounds, the body twisted inside of its shell, until a face turned toward the outside. Anon stared, aghast, at the slimy face of the infant that was housed in the shell. The baby had its eyes closed, and it yawned softly, sticking out a slug-like tongue. The baby smacked its lips softly, and opened its eyes. For a tense moment, Anon and the infant stared at each other.

Then, the tiny familiar started to scream.


End file.
